The Glass Shoe
by LuisaRose
Summary: She's a hard-working farm girl from the back of beyond, looking for something other than village life... he's a prince who can't forget the girl he lost long ago. What could they possibly have in common? Cinderella with a twist - written mainly for my own amusement, so expect romance and cuteness rather than cutting-edge plot! COMPLETE
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This is my first fanfic of any kind, so a little scared of putting this up! I'm planning to publish a few chapters and see if there's any interest, and if so, will continue with the story. Bear with the slow opening... **

_The Crown Princess was putting her children to bed. _

_There were plenty of nursemaids to do this, but the Princess usually preferred to wash their faces, brush their teeth, kiss them goodnight and tuck them up in bed herself. Tonight, however, was difficult. It was a warm midsummer evening and the sky was still light outside; Aurelia, the oldest child, did not see the point of going to bed when you could be running outside in the palace gardens, and since the two younger ones agreed with everything she said, there had been difficulty in convincing them to lie down. Only the baby, Pippin (his real name was Philip but he was too small still to have such an important name) was already asleep, curled up in his cradle in the nursery, looking sweet and angelic. _

_Aurelia looked anything but sweet and angelic as she sat up in bed; she resembled a small cheeky elf, with black hair and eyes and a scowl on her face. _

"_But Mamma, it's too early to go to bed, the sun is still awake and so are the birds, and anyway it's not fair, I'm six years old and I have to go to sleep at the same time as the others!"_

"_Yes, it's not fair!" chimed in David, the next oldest, while little Chrissie shouted, "No fair!" _

_The Princess sighed, closed the curtains so that the sun couldn't reach in and keep them awake, and sat down on Aurelia's bed. "How about if I tell you a story?" she said gently. _

_The tiny Princess thought about it. "Yes, tell us a story, Mamma," she said at last. _

"_Tell us the one about the hidden princess!"_

"_No, the one about the glass shoe!"_

"_That's the same one, silly."_

"_No it isn't!" _

"'_Tis!"_

"_All right," laughed their mother. "I'll tell you. But you must lie down and be quiet." She waited until they had burrowed down under their blankets, and when she could only see the tips of their noses and their bright eyes looking at her, she began._

"_Once upon a time," the Princess said, "in a kingdom not so far from here, a little Princess lived with her mother and father and her older brother. Her name was Elena…" _

ELENA

When I was little, I was often told that I was the luckiest girl in the kingdom, and it must have been true for I never wanted for anything. I had rooms full of toys and games to play with; I had a little garden of my very own to run around in; my bedroom was every shade of pink imaginable and my bed was a real princess bed with lace curtains around it. I used to pull them closed and imagine I was living in a cave; the cook or any of the kitchen maids would give me a small supply of food to eat, biscuits or freshly baked cakes or some savoury pastries that had been slightly burnt, and with a stack of books to read I could spend hours there.

I knew nothing of hardship or danger or difficulty; and I suppose I must have been a bit spoilt, because the moment I wanted something, I got it. But how could I help it? I was everybody's little darling, an adored Princess who lived in a fairytale, and I was the happiest girl in Tanezia.

When I was eight years old, there was trouble in the neighbouring kingdom of Nabol. It had begun several years before (I learnt this as I grew older, although at the time I had only the vaguest idea of it) when the young king had been presented a slave girl for his household. She was a dark-skinned beauty from the far land of Aradia, frightened but with a proud spirit; and the king fell in love with her, and she with him, the moment they set eyes on each other. He freed her and they were married soon afterwards.

The king, whose name was James, had a younger brother who had wanted to inherit the throne, and he was bitterly jealous of the couple. He had been plotting and scheming for years, and he saw in this interracial marriage a chance to stir up trouble for the king, who was still new to his rights and responsibilities and so gave his brother Thomas, whom he innocently loved, more power than he should have had. Thomas began to spread rumours of dissent. Gradually, whispers spread throughout the land: that the new queen was nothing but a savage, whose people thought nothing of eating unwelcome strangers; that she had bewitched their king into marrying her for the throne; that she was planning to murder him with her sorcery and rule the Nabolese as she liked.

But King James was well liked and respected, for he was a just ruler, and the whispers came to nothing more than a shadow, hardly effective except in a few small villages where there was still a distrust of people with different coloured skin. Soon the Queen gave birth to a son, Callum, and Thomas's bitterness increased. That he should live to see the throne inherited by the son of a savage, he told himself, was utter madness. (As a matter of fact, the Queen Sheidra had been a princess in her own country; but about this he did not know, or care.) And so he redoubled his efforts, gradually and subtly building up a force of rebels who he either persuaded or threatened to agree with him, patiently biding his time until (in the year that Callum turned ten) he had enough of an army to attack the palace.

His plans were foiled, however, by a spy who had managed to get word to the royal household of the attack, and when the rebel army got to the palace, they found King James' army prepared to meet them. Two nights before, the king had sent his children to the Tanezian King and Queen – my parents – along with a plea for help.

And so I met Callum for the first time.

CALLUM

I remember that the journey over had been one of the longest in my short life. The carriage rattled along in the darkness. My little sister Lydia and I, watched over (and held, in her case) by anxious attendants, were mute, from exhaustion and fear. At least, she was scared. I was not, because – as I told myself, scornfully – princes were never scared. Princes were _heros_. And if heroic obedience was required of me, then that would be my part to play.

So I had not protested as our mother bundled us into the carriage, kissing us gently on the forehead and telling us to be good for King Stefan and Queen Alba. Her beautiful worried face was the last thing I saw as the horses pulled us away from our home and all the certainty we'd ever known. The moment we arrived at the Tanezian palace, we were rushed straight to bed, where I slept instantly.

What felt like a few seconds later (though it was a good ten hours), I was woken by a hissing noise. Warily, I opened my eyes.

Standing over me were two children, a boy about my age and a younger girl. They both looked very Tanezian: pale skin, dark hair and eyes. As I stirred, the girl squeaked, wide-eyed.

"Shh, Marcus, he's waking up!"

"Well that's your fault, dumbo, you said we should go and see if he was awake yet." They were whispering vociferously.

"He's been asleep for ages. I heard that it's bad for you to sleep for too long."

"No you didn't, you just wanted to play with him."

"Well what's the point of having someone to play with if he's asleep?"

At this point I decided to intervene. "Actually, I'm awake," I pointed out. They jumped and looked at me again.

"Hello," said the boy. He looked friendly. I decided I liked him.

"Hello. I'm Callum."

"We know," said the girl. I decided I didn't like her. She was too pretty; she had fluffy curls and her eyes were big and green, and she was wearing a pink dress with lace on it. I didn't like girls that giggled or said 'I mustn't get my clothes dirty!' whenever you asked them to do anything interesting. She looked as if she would be that kind of girl. Besides, she had woken me up.

"I'm Elena," she said with more self-importance than I thought necessary. "I'm eight. How old are you?"

"Ten," I said shortly.

"Me too!" said Marcus, and grinned at me. "Want to come and see my model train?"

"All right!" I pushed the heavy quilts aside and pulled on my shoes – I'd been allowed (through sheer exhaustion) to sleep fully clothed.

"Can I come?" whined his annoying little sister.

"Sorry, 'Lena. No girls allowed," said Marcus, and we ran out of the room together, laughing, and leaving the little Princess behind.

ELENA

Callum and Lydia lived with us for several months, while the rebel force was well and truly squashed with the help of my father's army. Lydia was only three at the time and so not interesting to me, but Callum I worshipped with every fibre of my being. He fascinated me; I had never seen anyone like him: his brown skin, his sparkling black eyes, his thick eyelashes as long as my own, the way he was so self-assured; to me, he knew everything that there was to know.

He spent every moment with Marcus, who was about the same age as him, and _I_ spent every moment trying to get them to include me. My efforts for a while were completely fruitless, until the two of them decided that it would be more fun to torment me than ignore me; they would dream up impossible tasks for me to attempt, such as a treasure-hunt with no clues, getting from one part of the palace to another without being seen by anyone, going a whole day without speaking a single word, or climbing the biggest tree in the palace gardens. This last task, they swore, would enable me to be part of their elusive 'club' (which I later discovered consisted of nothing but a few mysterious passwords), if I got up to the third big branch. Longing to be included, I borrowed a pair of Marcus' old trousers and, covering myself with scratches and splinters in the process, triumphantly (if slowly) made my way up to the branch in question. There I sat, inordinately pleased with myself. From where I was, it was hard to read the boys' expressions, but I was sure that they were reluctantly admiring my tree-climbing skill. It was only after a few moments that I realised: I had no idea how to get down.

When I finally managed to make this clear to the boys, I half-expected them to laugh at me, and vanish. Instead, Marcus ran to get help. Callum, however, spat on his hands, put on his most determined look, and began to climb after me.

That has always been one of my favourite memories: clutching, terrified, the rough bark while Callum, scratched, dirty and with fierce determination in his eyes pulled himself up to me. Marcus returned with some palace guards just as Callum swung himself up to where I was. I watched him warily: I wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't make me jump off. Instead, he inched forwards cautiously.

"All you have to do is get your legs round the trunk, Princess," he said, in a teasing voice, but I could hear the worry behind it. I shook my head stubbornly. I suddenly had an irrational fear that the tree was somehow alive to my presence, and that if I moved it would shake me off like a dog. I clung tighter.

"It's easy, silly. Look." He demonstrated, but I refused to move. Peeking from the corner of my eye, I saw that the guards had no idea what to do. Finally one of them shouted up that they'd search for a ladder, but I knew that the only ladders we had were for apple picking in autumn and they were not nearly long enough.

"Callum," I whispered, "I'm scared."

He sighed. "All right, Princess. Climb onto my back."

"What?" I squeaked, sure I'd misheard him. I was hardly heavy for a small eight-year-old girl, but he was only a skinny ten-year-old and I was certain that there was no way he could climb a tree with me on his back. However, I underestimated his strength of character. Within a few minutes, under the astonished gaze of the guards and my brother, the young prince was making his precarious way down the tree with me clinging like a baby monkey to his back, my eyes screwed shut with fear.

When he reached the last two metres of the trunk, there were strong arms to fall into, and so we reached the ground without breaking any bones. We were then carted off to my parents, who were furious with the three of us: the boys for teasing me, me for behaving in the most unladylike way possible, and all of us for the danger we'd put ourselves into. We were all sent to bed with no supper; but Callum sneaked into my room to whisper, "You did jolly well to get up to the branch, anyway."

I sat up in bed. "Can I be in your club?"

His black eyes sparkled at me. "All right then."

When peace was restored in Nabol and Thomas banished for ever from the kingdom, Callum and Lydia were sent back to their own palace, but from then on we were firm friends and often saw each other. In fact, as I got older and my parents grew to know King James and Queen Sheidra better, there began to be talk of a betrothal between us. Callum was heir to the throne, and a blood alliance between neighbouring kingdoms was common. Although we were never officially told, and never mentioned it to each other, we both knew of this.

The years passed quickly: I was happy; I still had everything I wanted, and now I had an exciting future in Nabol to look forward to. It was a peaceful time for both realms, and everything prospered.

Then, one morning, I opened my eyes to a day I'd been longing for: my sixteenth birthday.


	2. Chapter 2

_It's my birthday! It's my birthday!_

I woke chanting it in my head. Today was the day! Finally, I was sixteen – old enough to be taken seriously. Old enough to start learning how to run a kingdom. Most importantly, old enough to be betrothed.

I sat up and pushed the heavy embroidered duvet aside. My feet swung out of the bed and I shivered at the cold morning air.

"Hannah?" I croaked, blinking the sleep out of my eyes. Hannah was already at my bedside, pushing aside the gossamer curtains. She always seemed to know when I was waking.

"Yes, your highness?"

"I'll go down to breakfast today," I decided. Usually I had my breakfast in bed, but I was too excited to lie around this morning. "Bring me my blue day dress, the one with lace on the sleeves. And I want a warm bath after breakfast."

"Yes, your highness," said Hannah obediently. I watched her as she opened the thick, velvet curtains to let in the light before opening the doors to my room-sized wardrobe. Hannah was small and neat, her dark hair tied back and her plain blue dress always pristine. She'd been my personal maid since I was ten and she was fourteen and she knew nearly everything about me. I got out of bed and waited for her to bring the dress.

"Turn round, please." The rich material swirled around my feet as Hannah fastened it at the back. Then she brushed my thick hair until it shone, glossy and cascading down past my shoulders.

"Happy birthday, my Princess," she said as she brushed. "Are you looking forward to the ball tonight?"

"Of course I am! My dress was made especially for it. Everyone in the kingdom will be there. And best of all, so will Callum." I smiled as I said his name. I couldn't wait for him to see me in my new dress.

Breakfast, unlike other meals, wasn't held in the hall, but in my parents' private rooms. I walked slowly down the red-carpeted corridors, remembering my tutor's frequent admonitions ('Walk with your head held _high_, Princess. You are royalty, remember. Not a little gutter girl.'), but as soon as I entered the dining room I ran to my father.

He looked up from his food and caught me in his arms. "Well, well, Alba," he said to my mother. "We seem to have mislaid our baby princess. Who on earth is this beautiful young lady I see?"

I laughed up at him. My father had blue eyes with laughter-wrinkles around them, and though he could look serious when he wanted to, he was usually smiling. "Happy birthday, Elena." He kissed me on the cheek. "Now, you'll get plenty of presents later, but here's a special one from us to have now." He put a soft little packet into my hand. Excited, I opened it.

"Oh!" A necklace fell into my hand, glittering. It was a fine silver chain, and on it hung a single brilliant diamond, shaped like a tear-drop. I held it up and it caught the light, flashing as if it held the sun in its clear depths. "It's beautiful!" I couldn't say more, but my eyes thanked my parents. I carefully fastened the necklace around my neck, and the diamond settled onto my chest and shone there.

"Sit down and eat, darling," said my mother, pulling a chair out for me next to Marcus, who had given me a grin through a large mouthful of croissant. I thought, as I often did, that mine was the most beautiful mother in the world. Her warm honey hair was twisted up under her silver coronet, and her eyes, hazel coloured, were full of kindness. "You have a lot to see to, today," she continued. "There are some final organisation tasks to do for the ball…"

She carried on talking about my day but I was only half listening. All I could think of as I ate a warm bread roll, fresh from the palace ovens, was that night. It was going to be wonderful!

I was on my way to my tutor, walking decorously and graciously greeting the servants I saw along the way, when footsteps alerted me to the fact that someone was running towards me. Around the corner, running full tilt with complete disregard as to all the etiquette that had ever been drummed into him, came a young prince, dressed in riding gear and rather out of breath: Callum. He nearly slammed into me and my heart thumped. He was here, then; his family had sent word that they would arrive early this morning. I hadn't seen him for at least six months; now that we were grown up, he had far more responsibilities as he learnt how to be a king, and we barely saw each other. He hadn't changed much, though. His black hair was tousled from riding, and he seemed to have grown another inch or two (he was already eight inches taller than I was), but apart from that he looked exactly the same as he had the last time I'd seen him: strong features, dark eyes, teasing smile… extremely handsome.

"Callum!" I exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

He gave me a mocking bow – Callum took every opportunity to make fun of me. I felt a faint blush touch my cheeks. "Why, visiting _you_, Princess."

I rolled my eyes. "I mean, where's the rest of your family? Shouldn't you be with them?"

He shrugged casually. "I rode ahead. I wanted to find you. I'll go and change into something decent in a moment; I have something to say to you first."

"All right," I said, not knowing what else to say. "Say it, then." How good it was to see him! I'd missed him.

"Well…" He pursed his lips, then appeared to make up his mind. "Come on, let's go outside first."

"What? Are you crazy? I'm supposed to be with my tutor. He'll kill me if I'm late!"

But Callum simply grabbed my hand and pulled me along the corridor. I tried not to think about the way the warmth of his strong hand made me feel. "Callum!" I protested again. "I don't have time! And you know I'm not meant to be out unchaperoned!"

"Shh," he said, without looking round. "It won't take long."

He led me out into the palace gardens, and into the summerhouse underneath the birch trees. I shivered in my dress; it was midwinter, and bitterly cold. Once there, he turned to face me.

"Well?" I demanded ungraciously, though I wasn't really cross. In fact, I was mainly conscious of the fact that for the first time in a very long time, we were alone together. Recently my parents had made sure that this did not happen if at all possible; there had always been an attendant hovering just around the corner, within earshot, just in case.

The Nabolese prince took a deep breath. "How are you?"

I raised one eyebrow. "Is that all you wanted to say?"

Callum laughed. "No, I was being polite. Is the concept known to you, Princess?"

I frowned, and put my hands on my hips. "Just spit it out. I told you, I'm late for a lesson. And stop calling me princess, _your highness_." Callum's smile disappeared. He suddenly looked unsure, and almost shy. I'd never seen him look like this. Arrogance and certainty were more familiar concepts for Callum.

"I wanted…"

"Yes?" I said, to encourage him. He looked down, hiding his eyes with long lashes. He looked very like his beautiful, dark-skinned mother. As I faced him, I couldn't help a blush rising to my cheeks, but I made an effort to ignore it.

"We're going to be betrothed," he mumbled.

"Yes." My heart was beating fast all of a sudden.

"I wanted to ask you… to make sure… that you wanted this. I don't want to push you into anything you don't want to… I – you're very young…" He stumbled over the words, but his gaze was clear as he looked into my eyes.

"I'm not!" I interrupted him, in spite of myself. "I'm sixteen!"

He laughed at me from the lofty height (quite literally; he must be all of six feet by now) of eighteen. "You're still a child, Elena." My heart fluttered again when he said my name.

"Am not."

"Are."

The tension had lessened but I was very aware of how still the silence was around us.

"Well?" Callum asked softly. "What's your answer?"

I took a deep breath. "My answer is yes, of course. I want it to happen."

His black eyes smiled into mine. "Good." There was a breathless pause, and suddenly I wondered if I was dreaming. It would make sense; I'd replayed a scene like this a hundred times in my head…

Very gently, Callum put his hands onto my waist, and leaning forward, his eyes always on mine to make sure that I didn't object, kissed me softly on the lips. My world spun. Dizzy, I pulled back.

"I have to go." I was soaring. He'd kissed me! He'd really kissed me!

"I'll see you later." He smiled again.

"Of course," I stammered, and ran out before I could make a fool of myself even further.

Mr Rodes was not pleased. "Your highness, you are late again. A princess is _never_ late. She always keeps her promises."

I tried to remember the correct way to apologise. "I beg your forgiveness, sir. I was unavoidably detained. I will endeavour to do better in future."

His frown lessened and his mouth twitched, which was the furthest my tutor ever got to smiling. "Very well. Let us begin. We will start with watching you descend the staircase…"


	3. Chapter 3

ELENA

"Hurry _up_, Hannah," I snapped at my maid. "Why are you taking so long? The portrait has to be finished today!"

She was fumbling with my dress. "I am sorry, your highness. These fastenings are difficult…"

"Stop complaining and finish them, then!"

"Yes, your highness," she said quietly. There was a moment of silence and then she stepped away. "There. It is done."

"I need my rose, Hannah. Honestly, what is wrong with you today? Give it to me, quickly, I must _not_ be late."

"Yes, your highness," she repeated, but as she turned, I caught a flash in her eyes. It was gone too quickly for me to be certain of what it was or even see that it really was there, so I deliberately forgot about it. I didn't have time for Hannah's tantrums. The artist would be waiting.

"There you are, Princess." The girl handed me a silk rose. I took it and without thanking her, made my way as quickly as dignity allowed to the drawing room.

The artist, a handsome young man, looked up as I entered. Not for the first time, a strange chill passed over me – similar to suspicion. It had taken me a while to work out why I had this reaction, but finally I had discovered that his eyes were different colours: one blue and the other brown. It gave him an uneven, unsettling appearance. Despite this, I liked him; apart from anything else, he had incredible talent.

"Good morning, Princess Elena," he said courteously. "We are finishing today, then?"

"If you can manage it," I answered, with a smile.

"Certainly. It will only take an hour or so, I think." He swung the portrait towards me on its heavy easel. In it, I was sitting by a window, wearing a pink dress. My dark hair was loose and in my hands I held a single rose, exactly the same shade as the dress. My face was turned towards the painter, a half-smile on my lips. All that remained to be finished were a few details on the dress and rose, and some touches on my eyes.

"If your highness could be seated?"

I sat down on the window seat. As he carefully arranged my dress and hands, my eyes strayed out of the window. I could see the summerhouse from here. It looked cold and lonely under the bare trees, but I smiled as I looked, thinking of Callum.

The rest of the day sped past in a blur of activity and preparation. I didn't see Callum again, though his sister Lydia had joined me for the afternoon. She was a small, shy child, now eleven, who never spoke unless she was spoken to, but we got on well enough. She was almost as excited for the ball as I was; before I knew it, I was back in my room, and Hannah was dressing me in readiness for my grand entrance.

"Oh, I'm so excited!" I chattered as she fastened the bodice of my ball gown. I had decided to forget her sullenness earlier and be gracious. "The whole kingdom will be there to see me, Hannah. So make sure my hair is perfect."

"I will, your highness." She still sounded a little sulky, but I ignored her tone. I had to look gorgeous for Callum. I wanted to make him catch his breath with surprise when he saw me.

Half an hour later, I looked in the mirror for a final inspection, and a triumphant smile curved my reddened lips. Yes, Hannah had done her job well. Staring back at me was a girl who truly looked like a Princess, and older than her sixteen years. My hair was held back by a thin silver tiara, but left to fall gracefully over my shoulders. My huge dark eyes looked proudly back at me, the exact same shade as the dark green dress. My shoulders were revealed and the tight bodice hugged me before flowing over my hips in a waterfall of shining material. On my neck, the diamond necklace from my parents sparkled. I looked exactly as I'd pictured myself.

With a tension born of excitement budding in my stomach, I dismissed Hannah with a gesture and as a final touch, dabbed perfume on to my wrists and neck. Then I left the room and went to stand at the top of the grand staircase, waiting until the doors opened and I could make my entrance.

This was the best birthday _ever_.

There was a buzz of speculation in the huge hall as the ornate doors began to swing open for the last time. It was absolutely packed with members of various royal families, lords and ladies, dukes and duchesses, and everyone else who had come to celebrate my birthday: the young princess who would someday be their Queen. Women in tight dresses fanned themselves with bright eyes and red cheeks as men offered them cool drinks, for despite the midwinter chill outside, the atmosphere was heated in the palace.

From my place on the landing above the grand staircase, I could see right into the hall as the door slowly opened. Up on the dais where I would sit on my throne alongside my parents, I could see Callum with his family. He looked impatient, and uncomfortable in a newly pressed shirt, as well as incredibly good-looking. Most of the girls in the room were staring at him, particularly those of marriageable ages. A thrill ran through me as I thought, _But they can't have him… he's mine_. With that in mind, I stepped down the staircase, holding my head straight as if there was a pile of books on it (which was how I had practised the descent); a hush descended as all eyes turned to me.

Callum walked down the length of the hall to meet me. As he offered me his arm, I heard someone whisper, "What a handsome couple!" and my cheeks glowed. We walked together to the dais.

CALLUM

It was less than half an hour into Elena's birthday celebration and I was already bored. I had to admit, I really didn't enjoy these kinds of events. For one thing, I felt horribly on show; there were so many girls staring at me, and I knew that later I would have to dance with them, compliment them and endure their usually empty-headed chatter. Also, the food was less than satisfying… tiny titbits that looked wonderful but hardly filled one up. Worse, I was not allowed to drink any more than half a glass of spiced wine, in case I made a fool of myself (how many times had I tried to make my parents see that I could handle alcohol perfectly well? I had a feeling they knew it and were simply trying to aggravate me) and I was dying of thirst, but iced water wouldn't be brought in until the dancing had started. My collar was making my neck itch, and the gold circlet I wore on my head kept slipping imperceptibly down my forehead. When would the princess make her grand entrance? At least then I would have something to do.

I thought of our meeting earlier, and unbidden, a smile crossed my lips. She was so easy to tease, my Princess, and yet something about her softened me, made me show a tenderness that none of my friends knew I possessed. She was an odd mixture of innocence and knowledge; she knew much about the world's affairs, having learnt history and geography and economics with her tutor, but almost nothing about relationships – that, I knew, would come with time. Now that she was sixteen, a different type of education would begin. How to solve arguments, how to treat people from the highest royalty down to the lowest servant (that, she needed – I had already noted that she tended to treat others as objects if she was so inclined), how to rule wisely and justly and well… Four years more of learning, and then she would be married to me. I smiled again as I remembered the look in her eyes after I'd kissed her, the soft touch of her lips on mine, making my skin tingle.

Just then a comparative hush fell and I looked up to see that the doors were swinging open. Elena was finally here. I breathed a sigh of relief and, with everyone else, watched as she carefully stepped down the staircase towards us. She looked beautiful, more beautiful than I'd expected, and in spite of myself my heart sped as I walked towards her to take her arm in mine.

ELENA

The betrothal ceremony was simple: King James and Queen Sheidra vowed that their son belonged to me, and received an answering promise that I would marry him when I was twenty years of age. I stood beside Callum, now my betrothed, trembling as gifts and promises were exchanged. Then it was over, and it was time to lead the first dance.

As we spun around in a graceful waltz, I mentally thanked Mr Rodes for making me practice the dance over and over again. My feet were sure of themselves and I was able to enjoy myself without worrying constantly about the steps. And it was worth enjoying, for Callum was an excellent partner: gentle but compelling, his hand on my waist firm but not too tight. His dark eyes never left mine. Although the dance floor filled quickly, I felt as if we were the only two people in the room, and I was breathless from the intensity of his gaze.

Too soon, the dance was over, and Callum led me up to my parents. We exchanged remarks but I was too excited to remain still; before long, I grabbed Callum's hand and led him back onto the dance floor.

It was nearly midnight when my sixth dance finished – I'd been dancing with a young Lord with two left feet – and I looked around, desperate for a drink. I knew my cheeks were brilliant from a mixture of excitement and exercise, and I pressed my hands to them, trying to cool myself down. From nowhere, Callum appeared at my side with a glass of iced water.

"Time for a break, Princess?" he murmured into my ear. I looked up at him with a smile of agreement, thinking again how handsome he looked in the white shirt and formal waistcoat.

"It is warm in here. Can you take me outside for a moment?"

Callum looked uncertain. "Are we allowed to?"

I stared at him for a moment, then made up my mind. "Who cares?"

A slow smile lit up his face. "Come on," I grinned, and pulled him through the mass of people and out the door.

Out on the balcony, it took a few minutes for my body heat to dissipate, but soon I was shivering in the midwinter night. Callum looked down at me, worried, and wrapped his arms round me in an effort to keep me warm. I leaned my head on his chest, happy to be out of the incessant noise of the ballroom and alone with my prince at last.

"You look beautiful, by the way," he murmured.

"Thank you, your royal highness."

"You're welcome, Princess."

He looked down at me and his eyes were softer than I'd ever seen them. Carefully, he tipped my chin up with my finger, and leaning down kissed me for the second time.

"Your highness! Oh – sorry –" Hannah had burst onto the balcony, but stopped in confusion. We stepped hurriedly away from each other and tried to look as if we'd simply been admiring the view.

"What is it, Hannah?" I asked, more abrupt because of my embarrassment. She bobbed a curtsey.

"Your highness, your father would like to speak to you."

"Very well. I'll come to him now."

"Alone. He said he would come and find you. If you will, your highness – I will go and fetch him."

My heart sank. Was I in trouble? I had only been absent a few minutes…

"Very well," I said again. To Callum, I muttered, "You'd better go with her."

He nodded. "I'll see you in a moment." His eyes held mine and I couldn't help smiling at him. Then he was gone, along with the servant girl.

I turned back to the darkness and leaned my elbows on the stone wall. For a while, I worried about whatever it was my father was coming to speak to me about, but soon I forgot about that and thought of Callum's kiss. Who would have thought that I would kiss a boy twice today? My plans had all unfolded perfectly. And now I had only four years to wait until I could marry Callum and –

A man cleared his throat behind me and I realised my father was with me. I decided the best approach was to pretend I was completely innocent, so I swung round with a huge welcoming smile and a bright "Hello!"

But the word died in my throat. Facing me was not my father. It was a complete stranger.

It took only a second for me to realise the seriousness of my situation. I was completely alone and out of hearing of anybody who might help. I was tired, wearing a heavy dress and only sixteen years old – hardly a match for a tall, well-built man.

I didn't even have time to scream before he grabbed me tightly and put a hand over my mouth. With terrifying calmness, he proceeded to put a gag in my mouth, and then tie my hands together in front of me. I struggled and kicked but he seemed to be made of iron.

Before I knew it, he had picked me up as if I weighed nothing and was carrying me down the back stairs. The palace was deserted; everyone was either in the ballroom or down in the kitchen, preparing yet more food. My hopes of being rescued vanished. At this point, I did something I was later rather ashamed of; I fainted.


	4. Chapter 4

ELENA

I woke lying on a bed. My eyes fluttered open but I immediately closed them again, chanting in my head, _It was all a dream, it was all a dream… nothing happened… you're in your own bed_. Then I opened them and looked around me.

I was in the most horrible room I had ever seen. It was tiny. The walls were an unappetising shade of grey and made of some kind of plaster that was peeling away in several places, revealing red bricks beneath it. There were cracks in the ceiling, which was absolutely covered with spider webs. A single lamp hung by the door, out of my reach, and there were no windows. The only furniture was the bed I was lying on, which turned out to have lost all of its legs at some point in the distant past and was now not much more than a mouldy mattress with some dirty blankets heaped on it.

Beside me on the floor was a wooden tray with a bowl of soup and a spoon on it.

My eyes refused to make sense of the scene. It was not that I was particularly frightened yet; it was simply that I knew this was not happening. I was a princess, and heir to the throne. No one would dare to treat me like this; their lives would be at stake. So, comforted in the knowledge that this must be some kind of strange dream, I sat against the wall and waited to wake up.

Since I had no way of calculating the passage of time, I didn't know how long I sat there, but it must have been a good few hours. As I sat, I could feel my whole body tensing up, and a slow, cold tide of fear gradually swept through me. I kept telling myself to relax and calm down, but only succeeded in working myself up to the point where I felt sick with suspense.

A footstep outside made me jump as if someone had pricked me with a needle. I heard voices and the rattle of keys. Suddenly more terrified than I'd ever been in my life, I looked around the room for somewhere to hide. There were no options. I huddled against the wall and listened to my heart thumping in my ears.

Someone unlocked the door.

Three men came in. I recognised the first as the one who had captured me. The other two looked vaguely familiar, though I couldn't place them. And behind them… behind them was Hannah.

My world spun sickeningly around me and I barely kept my grip on consciousness. Why was she here? Had she betrayed me? What had I done to deserve this?

"Hannah," I croaked. She was staring at me, her eyes harder than I'd ever seen them before. She was no longer wearing her plain servant's uniform. She looked different. More… like a person.

"Your _highness_," she answered, and I winced at the mocking edge to her tone.

"I don't understand." It was all I could say. What was happening to me?

The third man stepped forward and I turned my gaze on him. I realised I was shaking.

"Good morning, Elena. I hope you have recovered from your collapse?"

"Who are you?" I faltered. Terror continued to tighten its grip on my heart.

"I believe we have never met, my Princess, though if we had I'm sure you would have forgotten me… A common mistake, my dear." He smiled, showing all his teeth, and I shuddered. Something about his face scared me, though he was not brawny like his henchman. His eyes were a very pale blue. Cold. Heartless. "My name is Thomas, your highness. I am the brother of _King_ James."

So that was why he looked familiar. He had the features of Callum's father, but wrong somehow, twisted. Where King James had an open, honest face, Thomas' was secretive and watchful. In a flash, I remembered everything: how he had rebelled, tried to kill his brother, been banished from Nabol. What was he doing here? Why did he need _me?_ I summoned up every ounce of courage I could find, and trying not to let my voice shake, I answered him. "You may be the king of the world, for all I care. Let me go. I can't do anything for you."

He came towards me, and I stood as he approached, trying to feel less vulnerable. The cold wall pressed against my back, icy against my bare shoulders, and I was reminded that I had nowhere to go. Thomas – Prince Thomas, he must be, Callum's uncle – stroked my cheek gently. "Ah, that is where you are wrong, Elena. You can do so much for me. I have been waiting a long time for this."

"Don't touch me!" He heard the terror in my voice as I jerked backwards, and he smiled.

"As you wish." He stepped away from me, but continued to look me up and down. I wished I wasn't wearing my ball gown now. It felt ridiculous, overdone. His glance went to the food on the floor, untouched. "I would eat if I were you, Princess. You will need your strength."

I cringed away from him until he had left the room, his footsteps echoing outside the door. The other three came towards me now, and that was when I realised where I knew the last man from. He was the portrait painter, the one with odd-coloured eyes.

"You?" I said, unable to make my voice stronger than a whisper.

"I," he answered mockingly.

"I don't understand anything," I said again, and without warning a vision of Callum's face appeared in my mind. It was all I could do to hold the tears back.

Hannah (if that was even her name… was everything I knew wrong?) answered me. "You are no longer the Princess, _Elena_." It was the first time she'd addressed me directly by my name; I'd forbidden it as far too familiar. "Your spoilt, untroubled life is over. You belong to us now. It's our turn to order _you _around."

Over the next few weeks, I was kept in my cell and fed enough to keep me alive, though I quickly lost weight and was always hungry; a lot of the time I was left alone with nothing but boredom to keep me company, but most days someone (various people, I soon lost count) would come and ask me questions. Those were the times I learnt the most about what was happening to me, for sometimes in return they would answer some of my questions; no more than one or two at a time. Of course, I was never told the whole plan, but I managed to piece it together, bit by bit, with little bits of information that were carelessly dropped, clues that gradually enabled me to understand most of it. They asked me all about my life. I told them everything (if I refused to answer, they would keep my food back for a day or two, or just beat me til I was covered with bruises); about my family, my room, my books, my tutor, my daily life, my hopes and dreams and secrets… The questions were worse than being hit: the bruises eventually faded, but they didn't hurt me as much as having everything I cared about torn from me. It seemed nothing was private.

And yet, I could rebel in a few ways. Some things I could hold back, or change. Usually Hannah (that was not her real name, but she would not tell me what it really was) was there with me and she would know the moment I lied about most things; they'd been spying on me for a long, long time and they knew nearly everything – they even knew about my meeting with Callum, the kisses exchanged, but they had not heard our conversation and I lied about that, keeping his real words to myself. Distant memories, too – I'd swap Callum for Marcus when asked to remember a game we'd played together, or slightly twist the events from how they had happened. My most daring act of rebellion was to tell the tree-story wrong, daring because it was a popular one among the servants and Hannah would have heard it many times. However, her expression did not change when I told it. I made only one small change: I claimed that the branch I'd climbed to had been only the second from the ground.

These were the only ways I could fight back, and they were tiny, pathetic weapons from which no practical gain was to be had, but it made me feel better to know that they hadn't had the whole truth from me, even if I had hidden only fragments of it. Because I had worked out what they were doing, and what it meant for me.

They were training someone to be me.

It took me a while to reach this conclusion, but it was the only one that fitted. The portrait painter, studying every aspect of my face and figure so that he would know how I looked by heart – he had probably made hundreds of sketches of me; no one would have thought it odd. The questions, finding out how I acted, what I thought, my memories, my loves and hates. They had taken everything from me that would help identify me – my clothes, my shoes, my tiara, my necklace, though I had tried to hide it. They must have found someone who looked enough like me to become a pretend Princess, an imposter who would be able to take in even those closest to me – my family… Callum.

At first I assumed that as soon as they had trained this counterfeit Princess (I said _they_ to myself, but really I knew that it was all Thomas' work, though I rarely saw him) to their satisfaction, she would resume my place in Tanezia, but for the life of me I could not work out why. Why had they done this now? There was no benefit that I could think of from kidnapping and replacing me. Why should Thomas want access to the Tanezian royal family?

Then I realised that it wasn't Tanezia they were aiming at. It was Nabol.

And as this became clear to me, so too did the fact that they would not install the false Elena immediately; there was far more chance that she would be recognised as the imposter she was. Instead, they would wait until the day that she would become a Nabolese too… the day of my marriage with Callum. And then what? I had no idea, but I knew that it meant danger for Callum.

Despair overwhelmed me the day I put these puzzle pieces together. I had thought that all my tears had been used up, but I think I cried more that day than I had during the whole of my life. Finally I realised that no one would come to rescue me. I would never see my family again, never hug my father, never be gently admonished by my mother or teased by Marcus; never kiss Callum again or share jokes with him or stand with him at the altar. I had to face the truth: when they had finished with me, they would kill me. Either that or keep me locked up for the rest of my life, somewhere I could never escape from. This conclusion was supported as the days went on and the questions slowed, almost disappeared. I had told them everything, and now they began to tell me things. _They don't think I'll survive long enough for it to matter,_ I told myself, and knew it was true.

Hannah told me the most. She seemed to get a horrible pleasure from my despair and sorrow, but at times I thought that there was something else too: an expression in her eyes sometimes that could almost be sympathy. She told me that the girl who would become me was a witch's daughter: an enchantress who could subtly shift her features to mimic mine. I never met her for caution's sake, but I hated her anyway. When I asked why she had to marry Callum – why all the elaborate planning, the trickery? Why not simply kill Callum and his family? – Hannah looked at me with surprise and unwilling admiration.

"So you've worked out that much, have you? Well, you're not wrong. But we don't want him dead, not yet anyway. Prince Thomas" – she said his name reverently, almost lovingly – "needs someone that he can control, someone to rule through that the people already know; at least for a while. So once he has married the princess, he will be under her influence, and Prince Callum will rule for his uncle until – who knows? A tragic accident, maybe, while he is out hunting… and then King Thomas will have his rightful throne at last."

So they meant to kill Callum's parents. I shuddered. It all seemed too complicated to me, and I said so. Surely there was an easier way?

Hannah looked at me with something that might have been pity. "Elena, everyone has a weakness. Callum's is you. He is young and headstrong and passionate; his parents are wise and experienced, less likely to be led by their hearts. Callum will be blinded by love, and easy to control. This way, there is no bloody take-over. No war. Isn't this the better way?"

"Do you really believe that?" I whispered, seeing in my mind Callum captive, no longer in possession of his own mind, owned by others; worse, his body, an arrow through it – an 'accident' that would end his life. Hannah looked down, unable to meet my gaze, and I pressed my advantage. "Hannah? What have I ever done to you?"

"My name is not Hannah," she snapped, but I could see that my question affected her. "You know what you've done. You treated me like dirt."

"Not all the time, though," I answered her, feeling incredibly sad for some reason. "We had companionship, too. Did you only pretend to laugh with me, share my secrets? I know that I treated you wrongly often, didn't see you as a person when I should have… I know what that's like, now. But surely I've done nothing to deserve this." She would not meet my gaze. I sensed that she was almost as upset as I was. "Hannah, maybe you got involved in this without realising the consequences, maybe you felt that you couldn't change your mind once you'd made your decision, but what if it didn't have to be like this? If you just made a different choice, you could change everything, make everything right. No one would blame you for making a mistake." I felt like this was the most important thing I'd ever said in my life. Maybe, just maybe, I could persuade her to help me somehow, to escape, to find my family again…

But the moment was interrupted by a shout from outside, telling Hannah that her time with me was up, and she exited the room without a second glance at me. Defeated, I slumped back onto my mattress, all hope gone. It was no use. I might as well resign myself to death.


	5. Chapter 5

ELENA

At first I had been escorted to and from the bathroom (they called it that, though it was nothing more than a squalid toilet and a grotty sink in a tiny room that was rarely cleaned) by Mo, the big henchman who had first captured me, in case I made a break for freedom, though it was only a short walk through a corridor. He never spoke to me and I always used the brief walk to try and see as much of the building as possible. The corridor branched off just after my cell and though all I could see was more grey corridor, I was sure that there was a door somewhere down there that led outside, for two reasons: one, Mo always made me walk on the other side of the corridor, and kept close when we passed that passage; and two, once I was sure I felt a tiny breeze reach me from down there. All the same, I knew it was useless to think of running. My body bore testament to the strength in his great fists – bruises all up my arms and face.

But as time went on and I grew weaker and less defiant, Hannah took me instead. She was the youngest of the rebels I had met so far, and the others seemed to like ordering her around. (How ironic, I often thought; she had swapped one existence for another just as bad, if not worse.) I had noticed that she tended to get the worst jobs, such as bringing me my food or, as now, taking me to the bathroom. It was the first time I'd seen her since our last fruitless conversation, and she would not talk to me, ignoring me when I greeted her and asked how she was. All the same, she could not keep up the expression of hatred she usually had when she looked at me; it seemed I had hit a nerve, made her think, and as if she could no longer summon up such antipathy towards me.

It was on our way back to my cell that it happened. I smelt it first: a choking, acrid smell of smoke, that made me cough as it caught the back of my throat. Hannah smelt it too, shock making her stand still, and a moment later we saw the smoke drift towards us and heard shouts of _FIRE! FIRE! _Doors slammed, footsteps echoed. We were frozen, staring at each other. A thousand thoughts drummed in my head: Who had started the fire? Was someone rescuing me? (_Callum, Callum,_ my heartbeat pounded.) What would Hannah do now? Save herself and leave me to burn? She was strong enough to keep hold of me until she found others to tie me up again.

She should have grabbed hold of me then, made as if to do so, but she hesitated, and it was that moment of indecision that allowed me to take a chance. I ran down the corridor that I was sure led outside, away from the fire, away from Hannah. I wanted to think she'd let me go on purpose, but I couldn't be sure, and anyway I was running too fast to consider it. I'd never run this fast in my life, hadn't known that I could, feet pounding, chest heaving, breath rasping. I couldn't risk looking behind me but I knew she was following me; though I had a head start, I was weak from lack of food and exercise and it was sheer luck that the door was open, or I'd have run straight past it and been caught. I had seen no one running this way, but I didn't stop to think; I ran outside to freedom and light and air.

I found myself in a little backyard, the kind of place where rubbish and useless objects pile up and rust for decades until they are unrecognisable. Main problem: it was walled in on two sides. At the far end was a fence of barbed wire.

No time to hesitate; this was my only chance to escape re-imprisonment, or death by fire. I ran towards it almost blindly and instinctively jumped when I was within a foot of it.

It was my clothing that let me down. When they'd taken my dress away from me, they'd given me some clothes (after a few minutes of jeering at my terror and vulnerability: moments I had tried my hardest to forget) to wear which had been dirty to begin with and now were filthy. They were simple – a shirt and trousers, the shirt too big, and the ragged trousers too long. It was these that caught on the top of the fence as I jumped, unbalancing me and giving me a deep gash all the way up the back of my leg.

I hardly felt the pain as I tore myself free, losing a piece of material in the process, and continued my escape. Any moment I expected shouts as someone caught sight of me, pursuit and capture, but miraculously, my luck held. I had no idea where I was, but I had run towards some trees and by the time my leg began to really hurt me, I was deep in the heart of a forest.

I was alone, lost, wounded, dizzy from exertion and loss of blood, but I did not stop or look behind me: all I knew was that I had to run, run, as far away as I could.

I did not last long. The forest was a pine one, the trunks around me tall and straight, and overhead I could barely see any sky, blotted out as it was by the thick green needles; what I could see seemed to be white cloud, so I had no idea what time of day it was. I had stopped running, but somehow I could not stop moving altogether; a strange compulsion kept my legs going even when my mind had given up. I did not know how long I had spent in prison, but it was bitterly cold and some of the pine needles under my feet were frozen, so it must still be winter. Perhaps early January or February.

When I did stop, it was because my legs refused to behave as legs any more. Instead, they decided to become frail sticks of wood which threatened to snap at any moment. I fell over, and the sharp points of the dead pine needles I'd been walking on pricked my hands. I lay there for a while, unable to do anything else, then dragged myself up to a sitting position so that I could look at my legs and feet. I had no shoes, and the soles of my feet were torn to pieces, while the back of my right shin was sticky with congealed blood. It looked disgusting, but I was too tired and confused to feel anything but a dull sense of disappointment. I slept where I was.

It felt like years later, though it could have been anything from an hour to two or three days, that I became aware that I was dying. I was no longer in the pine forest. I did not know where I was; I thought that I might have crossed a river recently, because I had a vague memory of icy cold water on my torn feet, but my sight was no longer dependable since the fever had developed. It had crept up on me with alarming speed – my skin was hot to the touch, though I shivered with cold, and every bone in my body ached, like the time I'd had flu when I was twelve. My leg, where the wire had cut it, was red and shiny and every step I took hurt. My surroundings had blurred into a whirl of grey and brown and green and when I fell, I suddenly knew that I would never get up. My thoughts were jumbled. Death… so this was death. It hurt, more than it should have. Why did the pain keep going on and on? Why couldn't it just end?

Now the blackness was claiming me, and the pain did begin to lessen. A sigh of relief escaped me. My last thought was not of my family, not of the future I might have had, not of the princess I'd once been; it was of Callum climbing the tree towards me with that determined expression on his face. His name was in my heart as I took my last breath.


	6. Chapter 6

HELEN

I was up in the hay loft, my favourite place to sit, with a lantern hanging over me to light my sewing, when I heard the voice. "Where's my little Snowdrop?"

I dropped the dress I was mending and a beaming smile lit up my face. "Father!" I half ran, half fell over slippery hay to the trapdoor and slithered down the ladder into my father's arms. "You're home!"

"Of course I am. Didn't think I'd let my little Snowdrop wait another day for this, did you?" He held up something that glittered. My mother was watching, a smile on her face, and my little brother Bobby was on her lap, jumping with excitement.

"My locket!" I took it carefully and smiled up at my father. His smile was like sunshine, warming and cheering us all. When Father went to the city, we all missed him. "Was it expensive to fix?"

He waved that aside, and it was true, we were rich at the moment, now that the farm was doing well. Not rich by city standards, but enough to afford the little luxuries that we often had had to go without. Father had gone to the city to buy us some of the things we sorely needed – like boots for Bobby, whose seven-year-old feet were growing like nobody's business – and some extras, like my locket. I put it round my neck, happy to have it back. George had given it to me for my eighteenth birthday – it had once belonged to his grandmother – and though I knew it represented feelings I did not return, I still loved and wore it. When Bobby had broken it by accident I'd been more upset than I should have, but my father had promised to get it fixed when he could and he'd kept his word; the clasp was new and bright.

My mother was exclaiming, "But Jack, I didn't ask you to get me slippers!" so I forgot my jewellery and went to the fireside to enjoy the ritual opening of gifts that always accompanied Father's homecoming. Even if it was only a little piece of sweet toffee each or a tin of syrup to eat with our breakfast porridge, he always brought us gifts. This time he'd been able to spend more, and Mother had warm slippers to wear in the evenings when her poor worn feet needed to rest and a beautiful shawl to put around her shoulders. Bobby had his boots and a bright metal whistle that made an awful high-pitched sound, and I had my locket and a new dress. This was such richness that I could hardly say anything as I fingered the soft material, so different from the rough homespun dresses I usually wore. It was beautiful, a deep leaf green that suited my colouring, with a sash to pull tight around the waist.

"Oh, Father, it's so lovely," I breathed. He looked pleased.

"I thought that since you are coming of age this winter, and I don't know when I'll be back in the city, you might need a pretty dress to wear." It was tradition in the village to hold a dance when a girl or boy turned twenty years old, and though it was still early spring, it had worried me that I had nothing special to wear. I thanked him with a look.

"Try it on, Helen," said my mother gently, and I looked up at her with shining eyes.

"All right. I'll be back in a moment."

In the little room that I shared with Bobby, I stepped into the dress and pulled it over my hips, delighting in the heavy fall of the skirt that was down to my ankles. A real long dress! The buttons were tiny river-pearls, and I managed to do all but three up at the back. My hair was tied up as it always was during the day, but I daringly took the pins out and let it fall down my back. It had grown and hung past my waist now. George was always going on about it and how I must never cut it (it always made me want to shear it all off when he said that; why was I so contrary?).

"Mama, come and do my buttons," I called, and a moment later she came in and with gentle cool fingers finished buttoning the dress.

"Don't look at it properly yet," I requested. "Go by the fire and I'll come and show it off." She laughed but understood, and when she was sitting down she called for me to make my entrance.

Suddenly shy, I stepped into the room and came towards the firelight. I'd expected smiles, laughter even, but not this shocked silence. "What? What is it? Doesn't it fit properly?"

My small brother was the first to speak. "You look so nice, Helen. Like a real grown-up lady."

"It fits perfectly, darling. And the colour is just right for you," smiled my mother, while my father gruffly agreed.

"I chose it especially. Green like the leaves of a snowdrop for my little winter flower." I was born in winter and my father always said that I came out with the snowdrops.

"Come and see yourself," suggested my mother, taking my arm and directing me to the one mirror we had in the house. It was an old one that had been in the family for many generations, and usually the reflection it gave was rather unflattering, but today I barely recognised myself. Standing there was not a farm girl, arms browned by the sun, hair braided and pinned, looking about fourteen as I always did, but a girl who looked her true age, and like a fine lady too. My hair glinted chestnut and copper in the firelight and for the first time since I could remember, I thought myself pretty. Glittering at my throat, the golden locket added to the impression of richness and beauty.

"Thank you so much, Father," I said, giving first him then my mother a hug. "This is the best present you could have given me. I'll work twice as hard on the farm to repay you!"

They laughed at my determination, and my father joked, "Well, you are the best worker we have, Snowdrop."

It was such a happy evening that it was a shame when it had to end, but I fell asleep quickly, to dream of beautiful ladies that wore soft, green dresses and danced to gentle music.

Although the farm was prospering, the workload was still heavy, and it was a few days before I had any time to myself. I'd finished the evening milking of our few cows, and was bringing the heavy pails to the shed, where the milk would be stored and cream and butter made of it.

"Hello, darling," said my father, as I passed him. "You've been working hard this week. Take an evening off."

"Oh, really?" I didn't mind working, everyone was expected to work, but it was always nice to be able to do what I wanted. "Thank you, father!"

His brown eyes smiled down at me. "You're welcome, Snowdrop. I'm sure that lad of yours is hanging around somewhere dying of impatience…"

I blushed despite my efforts to brush off his teasing. "He's not _my _lad, father! He's just a friend!"

"Aye, I'm sure he is," he said mockingly, and chucked me under the chin. "Go on. Don't be late home."

As soon as I'd set down the pails, I rushed in to take my apron off and undo my hair. My mother frequently told me that I looked like a savage when it was loose – particularly when it had kinks in it from being plaited – but it was getting so long and thick that keeping it back was an effort, and it was a relief to undo the tight plaits. I wandered out of the farmyard and down the main street of the little village, past the few shops, the butcher and the baker and the grocer; as I passed, people standing in doorways or chatting together called out greetings to me, which I returned with a smile and wave. Once through the village, I made my way absent-mindedly to the meadows down by the river, where I spent all the time I could.

Springtime in the village was slow to arrive, but this year it had been warm and sunny earlier than usual, and so the meadows were lush and green. I wandered through long grass in the golden sunlight, which was strong for late afternoon, perfectly happy with the silence, broken only by the distant lowing of cows, the gentle song of the slow-moving river, and crickets chirping unseen by my feet. Wildflowers were growing in profusion as they always did this time of year, and I couldn't help gathering handfuls of them as I walked – they were so beautiful, pink and yellow and lacy white. When I came to the riverbanks where trees leant over the water as if to admire their reflections, I sat myself down with my back against a trunk and proceeded to weave a wreath out of the flowers, my fingers automatically twisting them together as I gazed at the clear river.

I was thinking how lucky I was. No one could have a more perfect family than I did, and they loved me so much. We had some money saved up, and a beautiful home, and soon I would turn twenty and have my dance. After that… who knew? Maybe I would marry someone – although I shied away from the idea. There was no one I could think of that I loved enough to commit myself to. Perhaps I would simply stay with my family and help on the farm. Or I could do as my mother wished, and apprentice myself to Luise, the tailor in the village. She had already expressed an interest in my sewing and mentioned that I would have a secure place with her, if I wanted it. That way I would have a living ahead of me, but still remain with my family.

And yet… restlessness was stirring within me, and I could no longer ignore it. Recently, however much I tried to convince myself that I wanted nothing more than to stay in the village, something within me had baulked at the idea. Deep inside, I wanted something more than to be a seamstress for the rest of my life. I wanted to meet people and learn about the world. I wanted to know what was outside of my narrow life.

Once, when I was only sixteen, my father had taken me with him to the city. Mama had protested, claiming that I was not fully recovered from my accident, but he had argued that I needed distractions. They were both right. The city had terrified me; it was so noisy and dirty and busy and crowded; horses and carts everywhere. The shouts of the market sellers had scared me so badly that I hid behind my father and didn't dare to look at anyone. And yet when I returned home, I wanted more. I wished I had paid more attention, talked to more people. The city was boisterous and rushed and confusing, but it was more alive than anything I'd experienced.

Could I give this beautiful peace up for a life in the city? I wondered as I threaded the last flower into place. I loved it here, there was no doubt about that, and it would always have a place in my heart; but I couldn't deny any longer that I wanted something more out of life than to be a farm girl for ever.

I heaved a sigh and absently placed the heavy wreath on my head, where it slipped down crookedly. Leaning forward, I dipped a finger into the water, cold despite the sun. A small fish came up and nibbled it hopefully, but disappeared as soon as I bent to look at it more closely.

"Penny for your thoughts, Snowdrop," said a voice, and a boy dropped from the tree above to land beside me. I had started at his voice but pretended that I'd known he was there.

"My thoughts are worth far more than one of your measly pennies," I replied, and turned to look at him as he folded his long legs to sit down.

George and I had been close friends for a long time now. He was a little older than me and the most handsome of all the village boys; with tousled blond hair and blue eyes in a freckled, sun-tanned face, he looked exactly what he was – a farmer boy, who had spent all of his life outside in the open air, hard at work that had given him strong muscles and a determined attitude towards everything.

"Hello, milkmaid," he said cheerfully, offering me a crooked grin. "Been pretending you're a Queen?"

I frowned at him questioningly until he nodded towards the circlet of flowers on my head, and I flushed and took it off.

"No, don't take it off!" he protested, taking it from me and setting it back on my hair. "It looks beautiful on you. Anything does."

The flush on my cheeks deepened and I hastened to change the subject. "Been stalking me as usual?" was all I managed to think of, though I could have kicked myself as I realised it was simply highlighting his interest in me. He just laughed at me, though.

"Now why would I do that, Flower? You think too much of yourself. You know I come here all the time."

"Oh, and that's why you sat in a tree and watched me for half an hour?"

"Maybe I was plucking up the courage to talk to you," he answered, and though his tone was teasing, I sensed there was honesty in his words.

"What on earth would you have to be shy about with me?" I scoffed. "More like you were trying to get me back for the time I scared you so much that you fell in the river." I began to chuckle at the memory.

"For the millionth time, Helen, I didn't _fall_ in, I jumped in so that I could splash you…"

"Of course you did. That was why you yelled like a girl."

"Oh, shut up," he said, without rancour. "You're wrong, anyway."

"I'm never wrong. And I know the difference between falling and jumping."

"No, I didn't mean about that," was his unexpected answer, and the blue eyes were turned on me with sudden seriousness. "I do have something to talk about with you."

"Oh? What's that?" I asked as lightly as I could. He opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to lose courage. He stood up, so abruptly that I jumped. For some reason I had been really nervy around George lately, which was all the more strange for the fact that usually I was completely comfortable with him. It was something to do with the fact that every time I looked into his eyes, I got a strange feeling, not entirely pleasurable, as if the bottom had fallen out of my stomach. I had no idea why.

"George?" He was pacing forwards and backwards along the riverbank. I looked up at him, half amused, half concerned. "What is it?"

He shook his head and continued to pace. For a while there was silence, then he began: "You come of age this year – "

"Yes?" I couldn't imagine what had got into him. He knew perfectly well when it was my birthday.

"I mean, what I was going to say – I – I've decided to buy the Adams' farm."

My turn to jump up. "That's wonderful, George! You've wanted it for ages. Did they accept your offer?"

He nodded, uncomfortable for some reason. "They're moving at the end of the summer."

"Congratulations!" My voice sounded more false than I'd meant it to. An unexpected sadness crept into my heart. Why did we all have to grow up so quickly? I missed the days when he and I used to play together, still children even though we were past sixteen. Now he would have a place of his own. My friend Rose had become engaged to Toby the baker's son only last month, and as happy as I had been for her, I'd found it strange that already a big part of her life was over, while I was left behind.

But it seemed there was still something on George's mind. "Helen, I mean, what I really meant to say…"

I raised my eyebrows.

He turned quickly and came towards me, so close that I had to resist the urge to step back, and then the urge to giggle at the thought of his expression had I done so. But one look in his eyes and every trace of laughter vanished. That feeling came back, stronger than before, a strange kind of pull that I didn't understand. I could feel the warmth coming from him and it made me nervous. Suddenly desperate to break the silence, I began, "George – "

I was interrupted by his lips on mine.

Everything slowed down, and a hundred different thoughts raced through my head. A lot of things suddenly made sense to me – the confusion I had felt over him, the way he had been acting lately, my restlessness. A lot more were still confusing. For example, why was I kissing him back, even though I hadn't made a conscious decision to?

This wasn't the first time he had kissed me; on my eighteenth birthday he had shyly given me a kiss along with the locket, but this was different… softer, less certain, yet somehow more meaningful. He pulled back after a moment, and we stared at each other, neither of us sure of the other's reaction. Before I could say anything, his words tumbled out in a rush:

"Will you marry me?"


	7. Chapter 7

**Hey! I'd love to hear from you and know what you think of my writing and the story. Please take five seconds to click the little review button and say 'good' or 'bad' ('I love you' is also an acceptable response...)! Thank you! **

HELEN

I blinked. "What?"

This clearly wasn't the response he had been hoping for. His brow creased. "I asked you… to marry me."

"Oh," I said idiotically. His blue eyes were anxious, and I felt a wave of affection go through me. George was so lovely, and yes, I felt a certain attraction to him…

And yet… in an instant, I knew clearly that this was not right. If I married George, it meant staying here in the village, never learning anything more, never going any further. I wanted marriage. I wanted a family to look after and love. But I didn't want it just yet, and I wanted it with someone different. George was too much like a brother for me; as much as I cared for him, I would never be passionately in love with him, the way he was with me.

"Oh, George, I'm so sorry," I whispered, and my eyes filled with tears; I knew how much this would hurt him. "But I can't marry you."

He tried not to look as though I had slapped him in the face. "Why not?"

"Because I don't love you." It was only part of the truth, but it was the part that would mean the most to him.

For a moment, his arms stayed around me, and then he let me go and stepped back. "Oh."

I didn't know what to say. I wanted to comfort him the way I could in the old days, with a hug and a joke, but that seemed inappropriate at this time. Neither could I touch his face and look into his eyes the way a small part of me wanted to. Instead I stared at the ground.

"I thought… I hoped… that you might," he said eventually, in a rough voice. "Or that you had begun to. You know I've always loved you, Helen. Everything about you is… dear to me. And I thought, when you kissed me back…"

"I'm sorry," I muttered. "I got confused. But I don't… feel the same way."

"Very well." Awkwardness filled the space between us. "I – I'll see you around, Helen." He turned and was gone.

As soon as he was out of sight, I sank to the ground and began to cry. I wasn't sure exactly why; I'd known for some time that he felt this way. I just hadn't realised how serious he was. Or how I felt about it. All the same, I sobbed heartbrokenly for a while. Every time I began to calm down, I'd remember how his eyes had become full of hurt, and start crying again. It wasn't meant to be like this! My first proposal was meant to be something romantic and passionate and breathtaking, not this bittersweet pain of knowing that I had broken the heart of my best friend. Why had he ruined our friendship?

The worst part was that a part of me wished I had given a different answer; that I had let myself fall into his arms; that I had chosen the future that lay with him, a cosy home and a hard-working husband and blonde-haired babies. It was this that made me realise that I had to leave the village. If I stayed here, not only would I hurt George more, but I would be more and more torn. I needed to learn, to explore, to discover. I needed to find out who I was.

Darkness had fallen by the time I came to this conclusion, and I realised that my parents would be worrying about me. I got to my feet and ran all the way home.

When I stumbled through the doorway, exhausted, breathless and with tear tracks down my face, my father immediately imagined the worst.

"Helen! What's happened? Are you hurt? Who's done this to you?"

Mama ran to me and hugged me tight. "We didn't know where you were," she gasped. "Thank goodness you're safe!"

Usually I would have been irritated at their way of overreacting, but today all I wanted to do was cry some more, and for a while I couldn't answer their frantic questions.

"It's that George, isn't it? He's done something to you. Tell us, Helen, don't be ashamed, we won't blame you – "

This brought me to my senses. "No, father, it's nothing like that! It's just that – he asked me to marry him," I choked.

Silence. I used it to my advantage.

"Oh, and by the way, I'm leaving home."

And with that I ran to my room and closed the door.

Over the next few days there was so much discussion, so many arguments and persuasions and changing of minds, that I got completely fed up with even the idea of talking. At first neither of my parents wanted me to go. Then it was only my father who was completely adamant, while my mother saw the benefits of my idea and the fact that it would make me happy. I just kept repeating my plan and my reasons for going. I didn't want to hurt George. I wanted to be able to learn more. I wanted a change. I would find somewhere to work; I could sew, cook, clean, look after animals or children. Of course I would come back, but I needed some time to myself… Here my mother unexpectedly agreed.

"She's an adult now, Jack. She has her own life to lead and her own decisions to make."

"And you think that's a justifiable reason for sending out our only daughter into a world where anything could happen to her?" It was a long time since I had heard him speak with that much anger to my mother. "Who is she meant to trust? Where will she stay?"

"I have an idea for that, actually," my mother told him, and he looked sceptical. I leaned forwards with interest.

"What? What's the idea?"

"Lynne," was the somewhat unhelpful answer.

"Lynne? Your sister Lynne?" She nodded. "But we haven't seen her in… well, years! Since she married that what's-his-name, that Nabolese fellow with the beard… Ah, David, that was it. Went to live with him, didn't she? What's she got to do with this?"

Patiently, Mama explained. "Helen could go and visit her. I know Nabol is not really far abroad, but it's a foreign country though it is right beside us. And maybe Lynne could find her a situation there."

"But will your sister mind? When was the last time you spoke to her?"

"We write to each other. I told you only last month that she's had a third baby this year. You never listen to anything I tell you, do you?"

My father rolled his eyes and grumbled but I could see that he was relieved at this solution. As for me, I could barely contain my excitement. I was going to a different country!

It took longer than I would have liked, but within a few weeks, my mother had written to my aunt and received a reply to the effect that she would be quite happy for me to stay for a while. She had her hands full with her older children and the baby at present, and my help would be invaluable; in addition, she thought her friend's daughter might know of a place for me, starting in about a month's time. My journey was all planned out; a mailcart going through the village would take me as far as the capital city of Stolk, and from there I would have to make my own arrangements – possibly there would be another mailcart, or I could pay a cab to get to where Aunt Lynne lived. The journey would be a long one – at least two weeks – but I would be on my way.

Telling everyone was strange. Hardly anyone left the village and several of the elderly inhabitants were convinced that the moment I was beyond its borders I would be set upon by dangerous men who lurked in the shadow of every tree. They came to the cottage, ostensibly to say goodbye but in actual fact to advise me against making such a ridiculous move.

"The city is no place for a young girl," was the most often-repeated phrase. Or, "You're far too young to know what you want." This only increased my determination to leave, however. I wanted to prove everyone wrong.

And so I found myself saying goodbye to my family at the front door of the cottage, suddenly wishing I'd made a different choice as I saw the tears in my mother's eyes.

"I'll miss you," I mumbled, and she blinked hard and held me tight.

"Take care," was all she said, though I knew she was desperate to repeat every caution and instruction she'd given me over the past few days. "Give Lynne my love."

"I will. Bye, Bobby…" He was clinging to my legs, little face upturned to mine.

"Helen, don't go away," he pleaded. "I'll miss you."

"Shh," I soothed, stroking his tousled head. "I'll miss you too. But I promised to be back at winter, remember? I'll come and visit you all. And who knows? Maybe I'll change my mind and come back home for good."

He sniffed. "Don't forget me."

I laughed in spite of myself. "I could never do that, Bobby," I told him before my father pulled me into a bear hug.

"Bye, Snowdrop," he said gruffly, and I swallowed hard to prevent the tears from rising to my eyes. "You be careful, all right?" He pushed me back by the shoulders to look into my eyes. "You're just a little flower. Don't let anyone trample you."

"I won't," I promised.

"You'd better go," said my mother with a most un-ladylike sniff. "The cart will be waiting at the crossroads."

I nodded. "Goodbye. I love you," and before they could see me cry, made my way down the street. People waved at me, shouted goodbyes and wished me luck, but it seemed an incomplete send-off because George wasn't there. He had refused to speak to me since he'd heard I was going. I couldn't blame him, to be honest, but all the same there was a little ache in my heart when I thought of all we had shared and all I was giving up.

The mailman helped me heave my bag into the back of the cart and then courteously gave me a hand up on to the seat beside him.

"Let's go, then," he grunted, and clicked his tongue to his horse. Forlornly, I watched the village I'd known ever since I could remember gradually recede into the distance. When I could no longer pick out individual houses, I sighed and turned to look ahead. Just then, I heard a shout from behind me.

"HELEN! WAIT! HELEN!"

It was George. He was running towards the cart, waving one hand. "Helen!"

"Oh, please stop for a moment?" I begged the mailman, and he obligingly said a soft "Woah," and we came to a halt. I jumped out and ran to meet George, who was breathless and dishevelled.

"What are you doing?" I asked stupidly. He looked at me with a wry smile.

"I… I just had to say goodbye, Snowdrop."

"Oh," I whispered. However much I wanted to go, I wished for a second that he'd beg me to stay. "Well, I'll miss you."

He gave a curt nod. "Me too. Enjoy yourself."

"I will."

We stared at each other for a moment. His eyes were so blue, the colour of a summer sky, or of cornflowers in a field. The mailman cleared his throat and abruptly I remembered myself.

"I'll see you again," I said, hardly knowing what my words were, only wishing I'd never hurt him.

"I guess you will," was his answer, and he turned and began to walk back down the road. Watching him walk away, stiff-shouldered with the pain I had caused him, was too much. I called out his name, not knowing what comfort I could offer but finding this conclusion unbearable.

"George!"

He stopped, and then suddenly he was holding me tight in his arms, his face close to mine, his jaw hard. "If you ever change your mind… If you ever feel differently…"

His blue eyes dazed me, but I knew what I had to say, though I was breathless from surprise. "I'm sorry. I won't change my mind."

A moment, and then he let me go. "Goodbye, Helen."

"–Goodbye."

**[EDIT: Oh, c'mon people! I know you read this cos I can see it on my stats. Please just tell me if it was crapola or fairly interesting? Pretty please? :D]**


	8. Chapter 8

**YAY I HAVE REVIEWS! This makes me happy so may post even more updates ;) as you may have guessed, I've already got a lot written, and my plan is basically to finish writing the story only if enough people want me to! But don't worry, there's a while to go yet! Just to answer some questions: most of the confusion will be cleared up in the next few chapters, I promise, and then feel free to criticise if you think the reveal isn't any good. However so I don't mislead Bloody Phantom, no the necklace does not have a huge amount of significance - it got taken away from Elena when she was captured :) Will stop blabbering on now! **

My Aunt Lynne was a short, comfortable-looking woman, with my mother's brown eyes and a very welcoming smile. I liked her immediately, and she was clearly very happy to have someone else around the house to help with the little ones – Lola, Timmy and baby Sally. The baby was a fat, adorable, cheerful child who never minded being held by anyone, but the other two were cheeky trouble-makers. I had my hands full looking after the three of them, and it was no wonder Aunt Lynne needed a break, but I enjoyed it all the same. More than anything, I was excited about where I was. Tesserie was the capital city of Nabol, and it was a beautiful one; the wide streets, elegant buildings and abundant trees appealed to me hugely.

Whenever I wasn't looking after the children, I wandered through the city, visiting quaint shops and village-style markets, and going on other errands of my own or for my aunt. She had made enquiries and sure enough had discovered that there was a job for me that would be perfect: working as a maid in the Nabolese palace.

This was even more exciting than the city, for I had never been to a palace of any description, and I longed to start work. Aunt Lynne warned me not to expect an easy time; I would have to give my all to the job, but I expected no less. I couldn't wait for the moment when I would begin to have an income (albeit a rather small one) of my own. What wouldn't I be able to do with it? I would send some to my parents, keep some for my own future, and spend the rest on presents for people…

In the end they asked for me to start work a week earlier, so I said my goodbyes to Lynne and David and the little ones, wrote to my parents about my plans, and began my first ever paid job.

At first it was hard, harder than I'd expected. There were so many names to learn and people to sort out, and the jobs given me were either incredibly complicated or simply took far longer than they should have done. Most tasks were given to me with only token instructions, and I was expected to figure out the rest for myself without bothering my superiors with constant questions. Every night I was too tired to say more than a perfunctory 'Goodnight' to the girl I shared a little attic room with before I fell asleep. Every morning I struggled to wake before the dawn and to begin work almost straight away. But it soon got easier. I began to enjoy my work, for I'd always been good at cooking and cleaning - although this was on a far bigger scale than anything I'd been used to -and besides that I found it easy to get on with everyone.

By the time I had been working for three weeks at the palace, I already knew by heart all my various duties and jobs, as well as who was who in the household. Although everyone seemed to like me, which was a relief, my closest friend was Annie, the freckled light-haired girl whose room I shared. She was talkative and friendly, helping me out in anything that confused me, and telling me all that I needed to know about working here.

"The King and Queen are lovely," she told me. "They're not the kind to scold if they catch you somewhere you shouldn't be, or if you make a mistake with the cleaning. They always know your name, too, and the Queen is the kindest mistress that ever lived – all the ladies-in-waiting say so. Then there's the Prince." She gave me a meaningful glance. We were sitting up in bed, talking, though we should have been sleeping. I guessed that the Prince was often discussed among the servant-girls. I had never yet met him; he was away at the moment, staying with a friend of his. All I knew of him was his name, but Annie soon put that right. "Oh, Helen, he's such a romantic person! He's only young, just twenty two, and the most gorgeous boy you have ever seen… He looks Aradian, like the Queen, dark skinned and with such dark eyes, and so tall…" I rolled my eyes.

"Annie, good looks don't make someone romantic. He's probably really stupid. Most good-looking people seem to be." (I was basing this on George's cousin Daren back home, who thought he was the ultimate lady-killer, though it was far from the truth.)

"Oh no, he's not," disagreed Annie, leaning forwards eagerly. "He's clever and he reads all the time, when he's not out hunting. But that's not the main part. You've heard of the Lost Princess, haven't you?"

I raised an eyebrow, shook my head. She gasped. "Really? I thought everyone did. Well, nearly four years ago, the prince was betrothed to a Tanezian princess. Elena." I knew of Tanezia but had never been there; from what I had heard, it was a beautiful country, famous for its delicate wines and delicious cheeses. "And from all the tales, he was deeply in love with her. But on the evening of her sixteenth birthday, she disappeared."

"Oh!" I said, drawn in to the story in spite of myself. "What happened?"

"No one knew. She had completely vanished. No note, no warning… she was never seen again."

"What, never?"

"They looked and looked for her. Everyone loved her, you see. But they couldn't find any trace of her."

"How strange…" I felt an unexpected sadness for the lost princess. "Do you think she died?"

"Some people think so, or that she was cursed and her disappearance was just an evil spell. But I like to think that she was maybe in love with someone else and so she ran away with him. Whatever happened, the prince was heartbroken… He looked for her by himself, spent days and days out on a horse, just calling and calling for her. There are hundreds of songs and stories about it. But she never turned up."

"And now?"

"It's like he's been mourning her ever since. He doesn't spend much time at home; I think it must remind him of her. I wasn't here when it happened, though Lottie and Nancy were, and many of the other servants. Some of them even remember what she looked like when she used to come here, years and years ago. They say she was beautiful. He must miss her so much."

I had to admit that this was grounds for being 'romantic'. My heart went out to the poor prince, calling and calling for his lost love. How empty his life must seem now. How lucky I was to never have experienced such heart-wrenching sorrow as he must have…

"Annie?"

"Mmm?" She was falling asleep now.

"Do you think the princess will ever come back?"

She yawned and pulled her blanket tight around her. "I doubt it. If she could, wouldn't she have come home before this?"

I was thinking of the lost princess a few days later as I washed the floor in the great dining hall after breakfast. For some reason the story resonated with me, wouldn't leave my mind. It bothered me, how she hadn't returned home. What could have made her leave behind everything she'd ever known and loved forever? I imagined never seeing my parents or friends again and shuddered. Maybe I'd left home for now, but in my heart I still belonged there. If Elena was alive, surely there was something stopping her from returning. But what?

When I returned to the kitchen, Annie was waiting for me, brimful of excitement. "Helen! Did you hear?"

"Hear what?" I asked, replacing my mop and emptying out my bucket of dirty water.

"The prince is coming home!"

"Oh, right." I tried to sound casual, but I had to admit that I was a little excited to see him. I wanted to see if he looked the way I imagined him to – the way a broken-hearted lover should. "When?"

"In two days. So I expect we'll be kept pretty busy for a while."

Annie was right – we scrubbed the palace until it shone for the prince's return. The cook was instructed to make all of his favourite foods, and the kitchens were full of delicious smells all day. Then came the day when the prince came home.

Those who had been able to catch a glimpse of him as he greeted his parents or returned to his rooms chattered on and on about it: how tired he was looking, how thin too. There had been talk, it seemed, of another betrothal between the prince and a foreign princess, but he had refused to agree to anything. Some sympathised with him, but others claimed that it was his duty to marry, broken heart or not.

I kept my head down and carried on working. However interesting this prince was, it was not my business to worry about him, and there was plenty to keep me busy.

**Side-note - if anyone is a poet, feel free to write said songs about Prince Callum's epic search for Elena ;) **


	9. Chapter 9

CALLUM

"It's wonderful to see you again, darling," said my mother, trying not to sound as worried as she was. I suppressed a surge of unfair irritation. Everyone was fussing over me lately, just because I'd spent a little more time than usual away from home or out hunting. I was absolutely fine.

Tipping my chair back, I answered her casually: "Good to be back," though I knew it was a lie. Recently being at home had felt claustrophobic. Everywhere I turned, there were reminders of Elena: in her favourite window seat, her favourite garden, the flowers she had loved, the tree where we'd made a secret playhouse with Marcus, the room where she used to stay… it used not to bother me as much, but it was as if time was making her absence worse, not better. Now it was becoming ridiculous. I could hardly see anything without somehow connecting it to her. It drove me crazy.

"Don't tip your chair, Callum." My father was clearly not in a good mood – a rare occurrence but one to watch out for. I hastily righted my seat. "Look, it's about time you took on some of your responsibilities. You've been shirking them recently and it's just not good enough." My heart sank, for I knew what was coming next, although a part of me was ashamed, recognising the truth of my father's words. "You'll be King one day, Callum, and when that happens you can't just run away when you feel like it."

"I don't – " I tried to explain. He held up a hand.

"Let me finish. You are twenty-two years old; I want you to act your age for once. From now on, you will not leave home for any longer than three days at a time, and that only once a month. I want you to be here, paying attention to what I have to do. And another thing. King Largin of Numbria has a daughter of eighteen, and he wants to marry her off as soon as possible, since she's got three other sisters after her to marry. He's a good ally to have, and any bonds between us can only help. I want you to meet the girl and get to know her, with an engagement or marriage in mind."

That did it. I stood up sharply, pushing my chair back and ignoring the fact that the loud noise made both my parents jump. My voice was contained, but I knew that anger was flashing in my eyes. "Father, I have told you, I will not marry."

The king stood too, though this was not quite as effective as it used to be, since I had passed him in height more than two years ago. "You have to marry one day, son. I understand that you grieved for your betrothed, but this has gone on long enough. You can't mourn her for ever. Elena has gone, Callum, and it's about time that you moved on and found yourself another girl. This Shia sounds lovely. She's quiet, obedient, pretty, and intelligent by all accounts. Elena is in the past. Forget her. Do your duty."

I stared at them – my mother, brow creased, beautiful amber eyes concerned for me but in agreement with my father, and he stern, arms crossed, implacable. A million different answers presented themselves to me. _How can you tell me to forget the first girl I ever loved? How can you betray the love you had for her, too? My first duty is to Elena. We don't know that she's dead. She might still come back… _But in the end I couldn't bring myself to say any of them. Without another word, I turned and bolted from the room.

In my own personal rooms, I slammed the door. My manservant, John, who was in charge of my appearance, gave me a nervous grin. Usually I got on well with him but today everyone annoyed me. I ordered him out and when he had gone sank into a chair, rubbing my forehead. I knew, as a prince and a gentleman (at least, I hoped I was the latter), that I had been inexcusably rude to my parents and that I should apologise. I also knew that at the very least I should agree to meet the Numbrian princess, if only for the sake of being polite. However, at this point in time I couldn't bring myself to go and grovel to the king. I was still too angry.

My mind returned, as it often did, to that day – the best and worst day of my life. The moment my lips had touched Elena's and everything had seemed right with the world. The smile she'd given me as we danced. The panic when she was discovered to be missing. The desperate search through the palace. The sick terror that grew within me as the days went past and she never returned. Where had she gone? _Elena, my dearest, why did you leave me? _My mind ran a familiar track. Either she had run away for a reason of her own, or she had been taken. I refused to admit that she would have abandoned us. I had seen the look in her eyes when we were dancing, had felt her tremble at the touch of my lips… she would not have left me. No, someone had taken her, but who? Why? Why hadn't they asked for a ransom? They would have been paid, and handsomely, if they were careful enough to avoid the King's spies. No one would have begrudged any amount of gold for the return of our beloved Princess.

For the first time in four years, my firm belief in Elena's survival wavered. Could it be that her kidnappers, for some obscure reason, had killed her? Had she been injured in a fight when they captured her? I pictured her dying of a fever or of blood loss, wondering where her family and her betrothed were when she needed them the most… A helpless anger, stronger than before, swept over me, and I rose and paced around the room, trying to ignore a desperate urge to break something. Why hadn't I been able to help her? I should have been there with her. I should have fought for her.

I stopped in front of the full length mirror, and stared at myself. Looking back at me was a prince, dressed in royal clothes and with a circlet of gold on his head, but all I saw was a pathetic waste of space who should have found his princess long ago. I had failed her, completely and utterly. I might as well marry Shia of Numbria. What else was left for me?

Gradually my anger passed, leaving only sadness in its place. In the mirror, the black eyes grew misty, and I blinked, ashamed of myself. _Princes do not cry, you idiot. Think how Elena would tease you if she saw tears in your eyes. _In spite of everything, I laughed at the idea. _That's better, _continued the voice in my head. _Now look at yourself. You look terrible. You need a haircut, too. Smarten yourself up and go and face your duty like a man._

I did have rather a shaggy appearance, now I came to think of it. My hair had an irritating habit of curling wildly if it got too long. I put my hand out to ring for John, who usually cut my hair, but paused. John knew me too well. He would ask annoying questions and read the answers in my face. Better have someone else who wouldn't infuriate me by talking. I thought for a moment, then went out into the corridor. It was empty, so I walked through the palace until I came across a servantgirl. She was engrossed in sweeping the stone floor with a broom, so busy that she didn't even notice my approach.

"You, there," I called. She looked up, startled, and I realised I didn't know her. She must be new. Her white face looked terrified, as if she'd been caught doing something terrible. Simultaneously amused and exasperated, I said, "I'm not going to eat you, girl, I just want to know if you know anyone who can give me a decent haircut."

Confusion replaced fear as she answered slowly, "I can cut hair, your highness."

"Great! Come this way." She made as if to pick up her broom, but I gestured at it. "Leave that there, someone else can pick it up."


	10. Chapter 10

**So I was trying to pace myself with the chapters and post one or maybe two a day... but I just really want to get the ball rolling so I might post a couple more, especially since the romance is hotting up now ;) Yes, there may be love triangles ahead, but I promise I will be as kind as possible to the characters... a little drama is necessary though, especially with someone impulsive and passionate like Callum... Heehee!**

**Thanks again for the reviews, please tell me moooore! Also, SmellofRoses I'm in the process of reading your Vineyard story and realising that there are some similarities to mine in it - I swear I'd never read yours before, I'm new to ! :P but I'm glad you like mine :) **

HELEN

I followed the Prince to his rooms, still a little confused and afraid. The confusion because I had never known such a strange order – it was not my job to cut anyone's hair, so why had he asked me, when I was clearly only a lowly maid? – and the fear because in spite of all the good stories I had heard about this prince, I had also heard stories about other princes that were not nearly so good – rumours of men who got girls 'into trouble' (as it was known in the village) and then had them dismissed, unable to find work again. What if this Prince Callum wanted to take advantage of me? Why else would he lead me to his chambers, unless he genuinely did only want a haircut?

But it seemed that this was the case. I stood for a moment in his doorway, looking around the room with wide eyes: I had not yet seen into any of the private rooms of the palace, and the richness of the place amazed me. This was a little dressing room, with a wardrobe of clothes, a sink with shaving paraphernalia and mirror, and so on. Another open door led off into a sitting room, comfortable chairs and a low table visible through the doorway. Thick red carpet was on the floor, and intricate hangings on the wall added further splendour. Beautiful ornaments and paintings were everywhere to be seen.

The prince sat himself in front of the mirror, and I came towards him before he could catch me gawping. He told me where to find the tools I needed, and obediently I began to comb and then cut his dark wavy hair. It felt very strange. I was used to cutting my father's hair, or Bobby's when my mother was too busy; it was an oddly intimate thing to be doing with a stranger, looking at him in the mirror to judge how much I needed to cut, running my hands through his hair as I wielded the scissors. I knew I should remember that I was just a servant, not a person, and think of this as an inanimate job, but somehow I could not.

What kind of prince did not think twice about calling a maid to cut his hair, instead of having a personal servant do it, or even a professional hairdresser? I studied him for answers as my busy fingers continued their work. He was tall, even sitting down, and just as handsome as Annie had claimed, though tiredness and emotion had drawn deep shadows under his black eyes, visible even through his dark skin. His walk had been arrogant and so was the set of his mouth; here was someone who was used to getting his way, but it was not at all a cruel face. In fact, as I looked closer, I could see that there was an unexpected tenderness there, in the curve of his lips, in the deep velvet of his eyes and dark sweep of lashes; but the sorrow I had been told about had made his features hard, cheekbones high and determined, jawline square and rigid. I could look as much as I liked, for his eyes were not watching me but looking into the distance, as if the things he saw were far removed from this time and place. Was he thinking of his lost princess?

I had a sudden ridiculous urge to reach out and touch his face, and my face turned hot with embarrassment. Hastily I decided to concentrate on his hair to the exclusion of everything else.

CALLUM

The girl was being very quiet as she cut my hair, and for that I was grateful; it was about time I had some peace. For a while, my thoughts were occupied by the problem of my possible engagement, but they soon returned – as they always did – to Elena. Where was she now? Did her body lie somewhere in an unmarked grave? Was she trapped somewhere, waiting for me to rescue her and wondering why I took so long? I couldn't bear the idea and made an impatient movement, startling the maid, who accidentally made an almost inaudible squeak. In spite of my dark thoughts, I grinned. She really was nervous.

"Sorry. Finished yet?"

Her face in the mirror was a picture of concentration as she laid down the scissors and, taking my head in both hands, moved it from side to side to check the evenness of her handiwork. Satisfied, she nodded. "It's done."

"Thank you," I said absently as I rose and brushed hair off my shoulders. "I'll remember to ask for you next time I need a haircut…" She'd done it well, in a style that suited me, and I was pleased. I looked at her properly for the first time as she bobbed a nervous curtsey. She was surprisingly pretty for a maid; she was small, barely up to my shoulder, and had a pleasing figure that her maid's uniform could not entirely conceal. Her dark hair was pulled back tightly, drawing attention to her most striking features: her eyes. She shyly glanced up at me, and that was when it hit me.

My body knew before I did. My heart began to race, my breath caught, and the back of my neck prickled, even before I had realised that the eyes looking into mine were the same shape, the same shade of green, as those of the girl who nearly four years ago had danced with me and held me captive with her gaze. I stared at her for one incredulous moment – causing her cheeks to flush with embarrassment – and then swept her into my arms and held her more tightly than I'd ever held anything in my life.

"_Elena._ It's you."

It only took me a few seconds to realise something was wrong. Elena was tense in my arms, not hugging me back. I moved back to look at her face. She was blushing violently and looked incredibly confused.

"Elena? What's wrong? You should be happy, dearest. You've found me at last. But…" My voice trailed off as I realised that she was shaking her head, and suddenly questions filled my mind. Why was she here now, and not before? Why was she dressed as a maid? Why had she not greeted me the moment she'd seen me? What was going on?

"I'm afraid, your highness, that you have mistaken me for someone else. My name is not Elena." She looked down as if I would punish her for daring to contradict me. I still didn't understand, though warning bells were going off in my head. I reached for her again, desperate to feel her warm and solid and _real_, but she backed away, looking at me out of those great green eyes. "My name is Helen, and I come from Falecia. I'm just a farm girl who works as a maid, your highness."

"No," I said slowly. "That can't be right. You… you are Elena."

Still she shook her head, and somehow my world was crumbling all over again. "No, sire… I may look a little like her, perhaps, I do not know. But I come from a village in Falecia and I have a family there. I am not a lost princess." She said the last words with a mocking edge to her tone, perhaps unconsciously, and I winced.

She looked so like Elena. Yes, her face was a lot thinner than I remembered, and her skin was tanned pale gold by the sun where once it had been white, and of course she'd grown up, but it had to be her. Surely no one could look this similar.

"There's something wrong about this," I said, finally. "Come on. You're coming with me."

My grim voice must have frightened her for she paled. "Where?"

But I was too angry and confused to comfort her. "I'm taking you to my mother."

HELEN

It was hard to focus on what was really going on, however dramatic it was, as the prince dragged me through the corridors because a large part of my mind was occupied by how warm and strong his hand was in mine. Which of course was utterly ridiculous because it had nothing to do with anything. Nor did the fact that when he'd hugged me, I'd been unable to pull away because he smelled so good… I told myself sternly to snap out of it.

He was taking me towards the quarters of the King and Queen – the even richer, more sumptuous part of the palace where I had yet to be allowed, since I was still only a new maid, to be regarded with some caution until I had proved my skill as a worker.

"Your highness," I gasped – for he was pulling me along rather too quickly for comfort – "I'm not allowed down here!"

He gave me a swift unreadable glance, then tightened his lips and continued his reckless pace along the carpeted corridors. I caught wide-eyed shock from the faces of passing servants and with an inward sigh knew that the entire palace would know within moments of what was going on.

The prince came to an abrupt halt in front of a pair of doors and, letting go of me, threw them open with all of his strength. They flew back with a resounding bang, and inside the room, the King and Queen rose to their feet with startled cries. The prince grabbed my hand again and pulled me into the room – if he hadn't, I probably would have remained rooted to the spot.

"What is the meaning of this, Callum?" said King James with an icy stare before which I shrank and wished I was anywhere but here. "What are you doing with that maid?"

Thus addressed, the Prince pushed me in front of him, and I stared at the ground with hot cheeks and wished it would open up and swallow me.

"Look at her," he commanded. His parents didn't even glance at me; they were too busy staring at Prince Callum with horrified disapproval in their eyes.

"Callum, please tell me that this isn't what I think it is, and that that this is not your reason for avoiding another betrothal," said the King through his teeth. The prince frowned, but I understood his meaning perfectly well, and suddenly found my voice.

"No, your majesty, it's nothing like that," I said hotly, and three startled pairs of eyes were turned on to me. I was tempted to say no more, but I remembered my father's words as clearly as if he'd only just whispered them into my ear: _Don't let anyone trample you_. I didn't mean to, whether they were royalty or not. "I have too much self-respect, sire," I went on, with a curtsey to him. "And with the greatest respect to _you_, this is not my fault. His royal highness there dragged me here against my will."

The King looked back at his son, who was gaping at me as if I'd just demonstrated an ability to breathe fire instead of stand up for myself. "Callum, explain this."

He pulled himself together hastily. "She… it's… she's Elena!"

This astounding statement was met by silence, which I broke with an exasperated sigh.

"Excuse me, your majesty, but I am NOT. My name is Helen, and I am a servant here."


	11. Chapter 11

**Okay, fine, I'll post one more chapter. Hopefully this will provide some answers..**

**Please, please, review and favourite/follow! I can see you sneaky people reading my story but not saying anything. Tell me if you like my characters (I have to say Callum is one of my favourites) or my style of writing... and if you find any of this funny, because some of it is meant to be. **

CALLUM

I felt a flicker of irritation at her confidence. How dare she make such ridiculous statements when it was plain that she was my Elena, my princess? I was unwillingly aware, however, of my admiration for the way she was acting – as if she were equal to my parents, not far below them, which only supported my conclusion.

"I don't understand," said my mother helplessly. "Who is she?"

"Helen," and "Elena," said the two of us at the same time. They were similar names. Too similar for coincidence. This must be an act, a huge practical joke on her part; why else had she not thrown herself into my arms the moment we'd met?

"Come here, child," my mother said kindly to Elena – she _was_ Elena – pulling her into the light. Gently she tipped the girl's face up to look into it, and I felt a stupid surge of jealousy. I didn't want anyone else to touch her. She was mine, whether she admitted it or not. I waited for the Queen to exclaim, to cry, to ask the Princess where she had been; but instead she looked across at me with doubt written all over her face.

"Callum…"

"What?" I said defensively, foreboding making me nervous. "Can't you see? Isn't it obvious? Her eyes, her nose – "

"Well, I suppose it could be," said my mother doubtfully, and I felt the first stirrings of panic. No, this couldn't be right. It had to be her. Otherwise I would have to face the knowledge once more that I had lost her, and that didn't bear thinking about. "Callum, are you sure this isn't wishful thinking?"

I was about to begin a heated reply when the girl in question spoke up. "Please can you stop talking as if I cannot hear you? Your majesty, I am deeply sorry for your loss, but I am not your son's betrothed. I have lived in a village in Falecia all my life. I have a family and friends there and I am certainly not a lost princess!"

It was my father's turn to intervene. "Your mother is right, boy. This is probably nothing more than a coincidence of looks and wishful thinking. How long have you lived in this village, Helen?"

I clenched my fists. This was ridiculous, and I opened my mouth to say so, but the girl turned and gave me such a searing look of disapproval that I thought better of it. "Ever since I can remember," she told my father.

"And how long is that?"

She froze as if she'd fallen into a trap.

HELEN

It was questions like this that I always dreaded. Questions about the past. People seemed to be obsessed with the past, with memories. I hated them, because I could never answer.

In a way, it was like being crippled. But instead of having lost a limb, I had lost a huge chunk of my life. It was as if I had come magically into being at the age of sixteen. In some ways, I didn't miss anything, because I didn't know – had never known – what it was like to remember my childhood or my early teens. But from another perspective, it was as if there was a huge empty space in me, where memories should be. As if I hadn't lived for more than half of my existence.

_You don't have to answer the King,_ I told myself. _It's none of his business, anyway. He doesn't need to know._ I did not like telling people about it, because they would almost invariably treat me differently afterwards. George was the only one apart from my family who ever just took me as I was. He'd never awkwardly skirted round the issue as others did – _Don't think about George now. Focus_. I missed him too much still to be able to think of him without a pang.

No, I didn't want to talk about it, but the King was waiting for an answer, and I was possibly the world's worst liar. I lifted my chin and answered him.

"Four years."

I felt rather than saw the prince's excited movement, but his father lifted a hand for silence and continued to stare at me with a spark of interest in his eyes.

"And why is that, Helen?" he asked calmly. I suddenly had an image of myself telling my parents and Bobby that I'd spoken to the King and he'd addressed me by name. They'd never believe me! But I could see, now that his initial anger was over, that the ruler of Nabol had a kind face, and he was clearly prepared to listen to me.

"I had… an accident when I was sixteen, and I lost my memory. I can't remember anything before then."

The prince bounded forward. "Then that proves it!" he exclaimed.

I scowled. "It doesn't prove anything!" I snapped, before remembering that he was a prince. _Oh well_, I thought. Judging from the look on his face, no one had ever spoken to him like that before, and it was about time someone took His Arrogancy down a peg or two! "My family were moving to the village, and I ran ahead, and there was a runaway horse and cart on the road… It hit me and flung me into the ditch." I winced as I remembered waking up, the bruises and cuts all over me, my entire body stiff and burning with pain. I'd had a high fever for two weeks, my parents told me, and when I woke up, I didn't recognise anybody… "Your majesty, I beg to return to my duties. This is a waste of your time."

CALLUM

Memory loss. That explained everything. Why she hadn't recognised me, why she hadn't believed me… Although, too, I realised with an aching heart, it meant that she knew nothing of me, of us, of what she had meant to me. Her explanation did not convince me.

"Wait! How do we know that's the truth?"

Elena – Helen – _she_ turned to look at me, and the hate burning in her eyes made me take a step back. "Who are you accusing of lying? Me or my family?"

"Woah, there, calm down!" I said hastily, hating the way her eyes looked without the soft smile in them that I remembered. "I didn't mean – "

"Yes you did," she shot back. "How dare you talk about my family that way?"

"I didn't – "

"And even if I was the Princess, don't you think I would have _remembered_ something by now? Do you think that I would stay a servant for one moment more if I honestly thought I had a duty to rule a kingdom?"

I had no answer and I wanted to be angry, but I suddenly realised how this must look – a Prince, more than six feet tall, being confronted by a tiny maid and backing down before her – and before I could stop myself, I chuckled. Unfortunately this did not help the situation. Her green eyes blazed fire and she marched to the door.

"Stop," I called, with such authority in my voice that she did actually halt. "We can't take the risk. Am I right, your majesties?"

Unwillingly, my father nodded. "I'm afraid he is, Helen. If you were the Princess, your real parents would never forgive us for not checking properly. You cannot continue with your duties until we have written to your parents in Falecia and checked the truth."

"But what will become of me until then?" She sounded so weary that I wished I could take her in my arms, Princess or no Princess.

The king and queen exchanged glances. "You will be our guest," said my mother eventually. "We cannot allow you to work as a servant if you are not one." I was probably the only one who heard the unspoken acknowledgement that if she was not a princess, she should not be treated as one, either. "Come, Helen, I will show you to your rooms. We will call you Helen until we know otherwise." And without a backwards glance, she swept the girl out of the room.

Left alone with my father, there was an awkward silence. I knew he had forgiven me for my earlier display of bad temper, but also that I was expected to apologise.

"Father, I'm sorry about earlier. I will fulfil my duty as you expect me to."

For a moment he stared at me sternly, then the mask cracked and he began to laugh. "You cheeky scoundrel. You know perfectly well that until we know whether that's Elena, no betrothal between you and anyone else can take place. All right, you rogue, get along with you."

Grinning, I departed, but when I was at the door he called me back. "Callum." I looked up at him. "Callum, don't set your hopes too high, will you?"

**Because I'm too lazy to PM: Bloody Phantom, hopefully it should be a bit more clear now. I know it's very obscure at first and the fact that Helen never mentions her amnesia seems suspicious, but if you look at it from her point of view, she doesn't like to talk about it or even to think about it. She's got used to it so she wouldn't bother mentioning it in her own thoughts or to anybody; hence why it doesn't come up til now.  
Colbub: I hope this chapter is bearable :P  
SmellofRoses: why yes you did call it. But I'm not going to answer your question... just wait and see ;) **


	12. Chapter 12

**Thanks for the encouragement, Bloody Phantom - I do write for enjoyment... but it is nice to hear that it's not just me enjoying it :P **

CALLUM

I went in search of the girl and found her in the suite of rooms that my mother had given her, only a corridor down from my own rooms.

"Er – Helen?" I hated to call her that but I had a feeling she would fly off the handle if I addressed her as anything else. "Helen? It's me, Prince Callum." I knocked again.

"Go away," said a muffled, sulky voice.

"Didn't you hear me? It's Prince Callum. Here to make your dreams come true, et cetera…"

The door was flung open in my face and I jumped back just in time to avoid breaking my nose. "Woah, careful, E—Helen. This is the only nose I've got – "

She was glaring at me, her arms crossed, with such intense annoyance that I felt a momentary surprise that I hadn't burst into flames. "Look here, you stuck-up, arrogant _idiot_. Firstly, just because you're a prince and you're not the ugliest person around, that does _not_ make me want to like you. Secondly, this is all your fault! If you hadn't stuck your nose in, I'd still be working and I wouldn't be stuck in the most awkward situation of my _life_. Thirdly, thanks for the fact that I will now have no wages to send to my family. And finally, what the hell do you imagine you know about my dreams?"

I stared at her. "No wages? Is that what you're worrying about?"

"Among other things," she muttered, trying not to show me just how much this meant to her.

"You don't need to worry about that," I said recklessly. I had an uncomfortable feeling that I have would promised her anything when her eyes looked like that. "Leave it to me, I'll make sure your family receive something."

"I don't want charity from you."

"It's not charity. It's your wages. Unless you turn out to be the princess, you'll still get them. How's that?"

"All right," ungraciously, but she softened and looked up at me, a little shy from her outburst. "Sorry. I just…"

"That's all right," I interrupted. "I know I deserve it." One corner of her mouth lifted to make a brief lopsided smile. When she stopped smiling I felt a ridiculous sense of loss. "So," I said, to fill the silence. "You think I'm not the ugliest person around, huh? You shouldn't say these things. I'll only get big-headed."

"Oh, go away," she said irritably, though I thought she might be concealing another smile. "Why are you even here, anyway?"

"I came to apologise like a gentleman." I bowed to her. "I am deeply sorry for causing you trouble, my lady."

That lopsided smile again. "I don't feel much like a lady right now. Your moth – the Queen made me wear this, but I just feel wrong in it." She was wearing a deep blue gown, similar in design to the one my mother had been wearing, though simpler. It suited her.

"Don't worry, you look fine," I told her. "Better than fine," I added, without entirely meaning to.

"Thank you, your highness," she answered mockingly. "Now tell me why you really came here."

"To show you round the palace and gardens. Come on."

"I've seen them."

"Not with me, though, and that makes all the difference." I gallantly offered her my arm, and to my surprise, she took it.

"I suppose no one's ever dared to tell you that you're not the centre of the universe?" she said lightly as we walked down the corridor.

"Of course not, my lady. My subjects are forbidden to lie to me."

This time it was a definite grin.

HELEN

The Prince annoyed me, but I was surprised at how much I enjoyed being in his company. He showed me all the parts of the palace I didn't know about, like the secret tunnel behind one of the tapestries that led outside, and told me the history of every painting and statue. When he showed me the gardens, I was enraptured, for I hadn't had the chance to explore them yet and they were beautiful, all done in different styles – this one Tanezian, with tall elegant trees, archways and fountains; this one Falecian fashion with wildflowers carefully arranged to look disarranged; others dedicated to specific people ("This was my grandmother's garden; she loved roses," and the fragrance of a thousand petals perfumed the air). There was one garden that I couldn't see into, since it was surrounded by a tall evergreen hedge, and there seemed to be no way in. I tugged on the prince's arm.

"What's that garden, your highness?" He had told me to call him Callum but I couldn't quite find the courage to do so.

"You'll find out soon enough," was all he said, but mystery made his black eyes shine.

"This place is beautiful," I sighed as we walked along a pretty cobbled path, edged with daisies and buttercups.

"Yes," agreed the prince, and something in his tone made me look up at him in surprise. "Wouldn't you like it to be yours?"

"What do you mean?" I stopped walking.

"It could be, you know. If you were really the princess."

I sighed, his words reminding me of all my troubles. "Your highness, I – "

"Don't you want it all?" His voice was suddenly angry. "Why didn't you claim it the moment you were given the chance to? Why would you want to stay a servant when you could have had – this?" His wide gesture included the palace, the gardens, himself.

I was angry too, though I was not entirely sure why. "Oh, so this is all a matter of injured pride, is it? Did it upset you that I didn't fall to worship at your feet, my Prince? Well I assure you, no matter who asks for my respect, be it emperor of the world or the poorest man alive, I will give it only when and if they deserve it."

He seemed to be struggling for an answer, and his brown cheeks were flushed with resentment. I continued before he had a chance to regain speech. "As for why I didn't jump at the chance to be a Princess, I'll tell you why. Because I have honesty and integrity, and because I believe that there is nothing better in life than to do a job well. Do you really think I'd agree to being Elena without even believing that it was true? If I am – and trust me, your highness, I am not her – then I will be a good princess to the utmost of my ability. But if I am a servant, which I truly believe I am, then I will be a good servant. That is why."

And I stalked away without giving him a chance for rebuttal.

"Wait! Helen, wait!" He caught up with me at the end of the path and I stopped, though didn't look at him.

"What is it, my prince?" I said, mockingly.

"Firstly, I told you to call me Callum, because that is my name. Secondly, you are right and I am wrong, and I apologise – really apologise this time. Thirdly – " and he grabbed my arm and swung me round to face him – "Helen, I will do anything I can to earn your respect. Truly." It was impossible to doubt the intensity of his dark eyes.

"Fine," I said, annoyed that he had succeeded in defusing my anger against him. "Do that."

He bowed and when he looked at me again, a teasing sparkle was back in his eyes. "I have one more thing to show you. Please?"

"All right," I mumbled ungraciously, then brightened up as I remembered. "Is it that garden I couldn't get into?"

His lips quirked up. "Maybe."

At first I thought he was taking me back to my rooms, but we went to his instead, which were on the same corridor. As he held the door open for me, I held back, confused and a little nervous.

"What – I mean where – Am – " I stammered. His expression was amused.

"Don't worry," he said. "I take girls to my rooms all the time."

I must have shown my mixture of shock and uncertainty on my face because he laughed and beckoned me in. "I'm only joking. This is the quickest way to what I want to show you."

Reluctantly I followed him into the room I'd been in only a few hours ago. He led me into the little sitting room; no one seemed to be around. I'd been afraid of meeting John, his manservant; I had only seen him once and as a kitchen maid I was far beneath his notice – I couldn't imagine what his reaction to my sudden change of status would be. My slipper shoes – given to me, like the rest of my clothes, by the Queen – sank into the thick red carpet as I looked around the room. It was bigger than I'd first thought. The chairs looked comfortable, and a small table held a silver bowl of some white oval objects which were unfamiliar to me. The decorations were very masculine; one or two paintings of horses and hunting scenes graced the cream-coloured walls, and one wall was covered in bookshelves, but there was not much else. I had an impression of loneliness, looking around the room.

Its redeeming feature, in my opinion, was a huge window that covered almost one wall, overlooking the many gardens. Callum walked over to it now and opened it, and I saw that there was a little balcony just outside it with iron railings along each edge. He stepped out onto it and I followed him, breathing in the delicious air.

"What a lovely view!" I gasped, forgetting caution. The palace was not in the heart of the city as it was in some countries but surrounded by fields and hills beyond the garden. A thick blanket of fir trees covered most of the hills, creating a hazy blue-green colour as they faded out of sight at the edge of the horizon.

"Isn't it?" agreed the Prince. I smiled back at him, noticing suddenly that he had a dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. "Is this what you wanted to show me?"

"No. You have the same view from your balcony," and he gestured along the wall to where another balcony could be seen.

"Oh." I hadn't even looked around my rooms; my state of mind had been far too turbulent. Instead, I'd sat on the bed and wished I'd stayed at home.

"_This_ is what I wanted to show you." And with heart-stopping suddenness, he pushed a bit of railing aside like a gate, sat down, and swung himself over the edge.


	13. Chapter 13

**Short chapter this time, sorry. Fluff everywhere. In fact the greater majority of this story is very, very fluffy. Hope that's okay. :D **

HELEN

"Your highness!" I cried, fearing the worst. Had he jumped or fallen? He'd kill himself, we were at least twenty feet off the ground! I peered over the edge – to see his brown face grinning up at me with devastating charm. He was standing on a rope ladder which was tied to the balcony, leading down into a little garden below.

"What on earth?" I began, but he interrupted me.

"Come on. Climb down after me."

"Are you crazy? I'm wearing a dress – "

"Bet that hasn't stopped you climbing before," he countered quickly, and I was about to argue with him when I realised that this was true.

"Well, get out of the way, then," I grumbled. He gracefully slid down the rest of the rope ladder, and waited for me on the ground. Looking around to make sure no one was watching, I copied his movements and – a little hampered by the not inconsiderable weight of the dress – made my way down to stand beside him.

"Told you you could do it," was his only comment.

"Shut up, Your Arrogancy," I replied rudely. Then I forgot our sparring as I looked around the garden and realised where I was.

"Oh! This _is_ the place!" The hedge was the one I'd seen earlier, with no gate or entrance. I couldn't see over it, but inside was like a miniature paradise. In one corner was a pond, complete with water-lilies and a tiny waterfall that trickled over stones and into the pond. Beautiful flowers grew along the hedges, delicate roses, tall lilies with gorgeous curling petals of dark and pale pink, and others which I didn't recognise. The grass was a bright emerald green and the softest I had ever seen; perfect for lying down on in order to stare up at the blue sky. There was a small patio area with a table and two chairs set up, in case one wanted some afternoon tea, but best of all was a swinging seat by the pond, just big enough for two people to sit comfortably on, or for one person to lie down on with a book. It was the kind of garden I'd always wanted – one where I could spend time doing pretty much nothing, a luxury that as a farm girl or a maid I'd never been able to afford.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it! Is it your garden? Why is it hidden?" I slipped my shoes off so that I could feel the grass under my feet and ran forwards to smell the lilies. They were delicious.

"Yes, it is my garden." He watched me, serious, but I could tell he was happy that it pleased me. "As for why it's hidden… well, as a prince, I don't really get much time alone. Even when I was only ten or twelve, I loved the solitude I could find in the gardens, so I had this one built for me to relax in." He stopped for a moment before continuing, "Elena loved it, too."

But I was too excited to even be annoyed about his mentioning the princess again; I had just discovered that there were fish in the pond, some fat and golden, others lean and glittering all colours of the rainbow, and I leaned over and put my finger in the cool water to feel them nibbling it.

CALLUM

It was the weirdest sensation watching her discover my secret garden. Every move she made, every word she said, was familiar to me; only Elena had been like this, delighting in nature, completely unconscious of the pretty picture she made. She had to be Elena. I couldn't believe anything else.

I knew I had things to do. My parents would be angry at my disappearance: they would probably have hundreds of questions for Helen, and there was plenty to sort out. However, I couldn't bring myself to end this afternoon. The day wore on and we ended up lying on the grass side by side, staring up at the one or two small white clouds in the sky, not always talking but enjoying each others' company. I told her about my life – little things like the way I argued with my sister Lydia and my favourite books – and in return she told me about her family life. The mention of books however provoked an immediate reaction.

"That reminds me! Please, please can I borrow some of your books?"

"Of course," I told her, surprised. "But why not just go to the library and find some?"

There was a moment of silence before she muttered, head down, "What's a library?"

For a moment I was shocked, then perspective kicked in. She was a servant after all, or had been brought up as one; I could hardly have expected her little village to house a library. In fact, it was amazing that she had learnt to read. I explained what a library was, and then asked how she knew how to read.

"In the village we lived in when I was younger there was a school I went to, and I still remembered how to read after the accident. But there were only a few books in the village and most of them were old records… I feel like I'm starved for stories sometimes." From there we got into a deep discussion about which books she should read and the relative merits of fiction and history.

Our peace was rudely shattered when John leaned over the balcony far above us, an exceedingly disapproving look on his face. "Your highness," he called down, simultaneously managing to make himself heard and sound as though he was not raising his voice. "Their majesties are searching for you."

I sighed in defeat. "All right, I'll be there in a moment," I called back. "Go and tell my parents that I will come to them."

John's disapproving expression did not change. "Very well, your highness," he said, and disappeared from view.

Helen was looking at me with a small frown. She looked different when she was not wearing her maid's uniform. I couldn't believe that I hadn't seen the resemblance to Elena before. "Is he always that disagreeable?"

I gave her a wry smile. "Yes and no. He looks after me. You might not believe it, but that rough exterior conceals a heart of gold… Come on, we'd better go."

"Yes." Some of the joyousness had gone out of her face as she got to her feet and brushed off the grass.

"What's wrong?"

"Well, I… I don't know what to do now," Helen confessed. "I feel like I should be working, cleaning something, or cooking – I don't like being lazy."

I felt a twinge of guilt. I must indeed seem lazy to her. "Come with me, then, and when my parents have finished talking to me I'll show you where the library is." I didn't know what else to suggest, but she seemed happy enough to follow me back up the rope ladder. In my sitting room, she pointed at the sugared almonds in a bowl on the table. "What are those?"

"They're to offer to guests. Try one?"

Gingerly, she picked one up and bit into the hard sugar coating. There was a loud _crack_ followed by a crunching sound, and then her face crumpled into the most disgusted expression I had ever seen. I laughed so hard that I had to sit down in order to recover my breath. She chewed and swallowed bravely, wincing as she did so.

"That was _disgusting_! What was it?"

"An almond. A nut. Don't you like it?" I teased. Her nose wrinkled up.

"I'm never eating anything you offer me, ever again!" she vowed. Still laughing, I got up and nodded my head towards the door.

"Come on, then, let's go."


	14. Chapter 14

**I'll stick with two chapters a day.  
UNLESS YOU BEG FOR MORE!**

HELEN

We walked through the corridors at a slow pace. For a while I was comfortable with the silence – after all, we'd been sharing it all afternoon – but my peace of mind came to an abrupt end as the prince's hand brushed mine. I jerked my hand away, as did he, and we stared resolutely ahead, while confusion filled my mind. I'd only just met this man. Why did I already feel as if I'd known him for years? And why was he being so nice to me? I could only come to one conclusion: that he thought I was the Princess. For some reason I couldn't figure out, that bothered me more than it should have.

I dragged my thoughts away from that topic and wondered what was going to happen now. Would I be forced to meet the king and queen of Tanezia – my potential 'parents'? I hated the idea. It would be like a betrayal of my real parents to even suppose that I had others. And what if I gave the Tanezian royal family reason to hope where there was none? I'd feel guilty for the rest of my life for having put everyone through so much emotional turmoil. A renewed anger against the Prince for seeing the stupid and probably nonexistent resemblance flared up in me, and as we approached his parents' rooms for the second time that day, I stepped away from him.

Fortunately I was not expected to stay. The Queen gave me a kind if slightly harassed smile and told me that we would dine in an hour, that I would be expected to dress for it, and that she'd ordered for a maid to be assigned to my rooms to help dress me and so on. It was a clear dismissal, and not knowing the correct protocol, I curtseyed in silence before leaving the room.

I sped back the way we'd come, my head whirling even faster than before. Just that simple sentence had thrown me into complete confusion. What did it mean to dress for dinner? I was already dressed, wasn't I? How did they expect me to act there? What if I said something wrong or used something wrong? What would I eat? I had seen the sort of food prepared for the royal family – mountains and mountains of it, and although we were sometimes allowed to eat leftovers if they couldn't be saved or used, the usual food for servants was much plainer. In addition to this, why on earth had I been assigned a maid? I didn't need one, for goodness' sake. I was a maid myself! I knew perfectly well how to dress myself! I had arms, didn't I?

I was almost tempted to go and blurt all these questions out to the King and Queen, but instead stalked to my room with anger pushing me faster and faster until I slammed the doors open and glared in to see which unfortunate creature had been told to submit to my commands.

Annie was sitting on the bed, leaning back as if she'd never been as relaxed as she was now, watching my tempestuous entrance with an amused eye. I stopped short, completely unsure as to how to act now. Would she be angry? Resentful? Expect me to order her around?

Instead, she got up and came towards me, arms outstretched, and before I knew it, she'd grabbed me in a warm hug. How she knew that I needed it, I had no idea, but the moment her comforting arms were around me, I broke down and began to cry.

"Shhh," murmured Annie soothingly. "It's all right, Helen. It's all right."

She sat me down on the bed – the huge, super-king-sized double bed, complete with posts and curtains – and patted my shoulders until I hiccoughed and sniffed myself into a relative calm.

"So," I said to break the silence, which was beginning to grate on me. "Do you think I'm the Princess? Or do you think I'm just going along with it to get privileges?"

"Helen, everyone's on your side," she said excitedly. "We all hope you _are_ the Princess! Even the ladies-in-waiting! Well most of them anyway." (There was always a feud between the kitchen maids and the ladies-in-waiting.) "But if you're not, we'll stand by you. I promise you, no one thinks you're making it up or trying to be stuck-up. Most people are just amazed that they didn't see it before… but I suppose that no one expected Elena to turn up dressed as a servant."

Somehow, a weight lifted off my shoulders. I had been afraid that people would accuse me of all sorts of things. But I wanted to make one thing clear. "Annie, I'm Helen and no one else, unless – which I think is highly unlikely – they discover that I'm not." I suddenly became aware of the fact that I was not making much sense, and tried to speak more clearly. "I mean, I'm not going to treat you differently now that I might be a princess. I'm still me. And anyway, I don't think I am. I can't remember it."

And there and then I poured out the whole story to her while she listened attentively, occasionally laughing but more often gasping in astonishment. The first thing she said when I'd finished was, "Ooh, Helen, you are so lucky. The prince _hugged_ you! _And_ you saw his garden! No one's allowed to go in there. He must like you!"

"I don't want to talk about him," I said, so firmly that she stopped teasing me and turned serious.

"Well, these were Elena's rooms, where she stayed when she came to visit," she said, gesturing round the spacious bedroom. "Right next to the Prince's…" and she winked at me, despite my expression, "which is probably why I'm here, actually… you know, to make sure you don't do anything naughty."

"Annie!" I threw a richly brocaded pillow at her, and she caught it.

"By, this is heavy. Must be the most expensive thing I've ever held," she giggled. "I wouldn't sleep on this if I were you. It'd make a hole in your head!" For some reason this struck us as the most ridiculously funny thing ever, and we began to laugh, chucking all the pillows at each other until we were lying back on the bed, exhausted from laughing so hard.

When we'd recovered, I sat up and looked at the room properly for the first time. "How do you know this was Elena's? It doesn't seem familiar to me at all." It was a beautiful room, though I felt a pang of homesickness for my tiny bedroom at home, Bobby's bed a mess of clothes and raggedy toys, the red and white curtains we'd saved up for, my meagre possessions lined up on a shelf – some beautiful pebbles, a skeleton leaf, and my tiny red rose in a pot. This place could hardly be more opposite. The carpet was just as thick and soft as in the prince's rooms, but these definitely belonged to a girl. The walls were painted pink, so pale that it was almost white, and decorated with paintings of flowers and meadows in spring. There was a huge wardrobe along one wall, with mirrors in its doors to make the room seem twice as large and light as it was, and facing it the window and balcony. A door led to a sitting room, just like that of the Prince, only warmer-looking. I shuddered at the bowl of sugared almonds and told Annie to eat them if she wanted. Then there was a dressing-room, with another big mirror and a table to sit at, where I could have my hair brushed and done up; I examined the objects on it as if they were buried treasure: glass bottles of perfume which smelt delicious, hairbrushes, hairpins, creams and powders, and even a music-box which had necklaces and earrings in it. I resisted the urge to try them all on, because an increasing sense was creeping over me of intrusion: I felt as if at any moment, the door would open and the real Princess would walk in and claim her room, which so clearly belonged to her. I was an imposter, an actor… I didn't belong here.

"Look, Helen!" called Annie, distracting me from my thoughts. She was holding the last door open. It was a little bedroom for her, my personal maid, leading into my dressing room which in turn led to my bedroom. "I'll stay here and you can call me if you need anything at all." This did cheer me up. At least I wouldn't be alone at night.

Just then the clock on the wall chimed gracefully, and I panicked. "Annie! It's dinner in half an hour and they said I had to dress for it! I don't even know what that means!"

Annie laughed. "Don't worry, Helen. I've been trained as a lady's maid by my mother. It just means you put on a really nice dress and some jewellery and put your hair up."

"Where can I get a nice dress from?" I exclaimed, my panic not abating. "I don't have any!" All I had in the world was my maid's uniform plus a spare to wash, a day dress from home for my days off, and the dress my father had given me, which although beautiful was hardly suitable for a palace, especially in summer.

"Calm down!" said Annie in exasperation. "The housekeeper had me take some gowns from the Queen and Princess Lydia to put here. She said that you were so small, likely the Princess would have some dresses to fit you." She opened the wardrobe door and revealed a colourful medley of materials. I had never seen so much richness in my life, and for a moment I wonderingly ran my finger along the softness of all the clothes. But time was short and within a few minutes Annie had selected a cream evening gown for me to wear, a draping, clinging thing that I didn't really like but I had to admit looked good. She pulled my hair out of the tight knot I wore it in for work and brushed it out before twisting it up into a soft mass of curls at the back of my neck.

I stared in the mirror, honestly amazed at her handiwork. If I didn't look quite like a Princess – I didn't believe that I ever would – I certainly looked like a lady. If only I felt like one. Instead, my feeling of fraud was growing stronger and stronger. No matter how fine my clothes were, underneath I was still just a farm girl.

Annie chose one of the perfumes and showed me how to dab it onto my wrists and behind my ears. Then since we had a few moments before I was due down in the dining hall, she gave me some brief instructions as to how to behave. "Always sit up straight, like someone's stuck a poker down your back, understand? Keep your voice down, don't yell across the table, don't lean over the table, don't sit down until the King and Queen are seated, and don't be rude to the Prince, however tempting it may be." A twinkle in her eye belied the seriousness with which she spoke. "Use cutlery from the outside in, drink your wine _slowly_, and just be yourself. You'll be fine, Helen."

I was shaking, but I tried to pull myself together. "I'll see you later," I muttered, and made my way downstairs to dinner.


	15. Chapter 15

**And this chapter is ridiculously long... I didn't write the story in chapters, though, and I couldn't find a suitable place to break it off. **

HELEN

The others were sitting in a room together, waiting until the clock chimed seven, and quietly talking among themselves. I stood in the doorway for a moment, summoning up my courage. This felt so wrong, somehow, backwards. I shouldn't be here. I should be down with everyone in the kitchen where Annie had probably gone now, laughing about our hard day, telling stories round the warm fire. Not here with the royal family. Surely any moment I would wake up from this mad dream.

But the Prince had seen me, and he jumped to his feet with a look of surprise and admiration that looked genuine. His parents and his sister turned to look at me, and I gave them a slight bow, hoping that it was all right to do so. Callum had told me of the Princess Lydia but I had never come across her, and I was heartened to see a warm and welcoming look in her black eyes. She was a younger, feminine version of her brother: about fifteen or sixteen years old, I judged, already beautiful with golden skin and short black hair that curled around her face. She was taller than me – no wonder I had fitted into her old dresses, though she had a willowy, graceful figure rather than my curves.

The Prince came towards me with a smile on his lips. "Helen, you look lovely," he said softly. I didn't answer. To be honest, I was afraid of opening my mouth in case I said anything awkward. Fortunately at that moment the clock struck, and a footman opened the door to announce, "Dinner is served."

Callum offered me his arm, and I took it as I had earlier, wondering why on earth the butterflies in my stomach should increase tenfold at this gesture. At a stern glance from his mother, he held out his other arm to the Princess, who winked at me and took it. We walked into the dining room together.

CALLUM

I was sitting opposite Helen at the table, and though I had been dining in this room for twenty two years, I suddenly saw it through her wide eyes. Built for the sole use of the Royal family and close friends or relatives, it was small compared to the glory and riches of the great banquet hall or the old fashioned ballroom with its polished floor, soaring ceiling and huge windows to let in the light; but it was a beautiful room nonetheless and the intricate wall hangings, the chandeliers, the gorgeously carved furniture appeared to intimidate her. It was only a day since we had met (no, met again, for I clung to my belief that she was Elena) but already I seemed to know that when she lifted her chin just that bit higher and squared her shoulders she was warding off fear and summoning every inch of courage contained in her small frame. I wanted to say something to put her at ease, but had no idea where to begin, and besides had unaccountably discovered that whenever I tried to open my mouth all that came out was the urge to express how beautiful she looked in that old dress of Lydia's. Fortunately it was Lydia herself who turned to Helen and made a remark I couldn't catch which made Helen dart a quick glance at me and smile gratefully at my sister.

As I tried not to stare at Helen, I turned over in my mind what my parents had said to me.

"We have written to her parents, asking if there is any possible chance that she is descended from royalty, if she is adopted or there could have been some mistake – though I hope you realise, Callum, how unlikely that is – but we have refrained from writing to King Stefan and Queen Alba until we have received a reply from them."

"But why?" I had asked, bewildered. Surely the Tanezian rulers would want to immediately grasp the chance of being returned their beloved, deeply missed princess. The entire country still held a day of mourning on her birthday, in midwinter. "They would never forgive us if they found out that we had kept her secret from them when they could be celebrating her return!" Though even as I spoke I had to push down the thought that if Helen was the lost Princess, she would return to her family, and there could be no question of her staying here with me, in the room next to mine…

"Perhaps you are right," said my father, "but neither would it be fair to them to lead them on yet again. If she was only a servant…"

He was right, too, for how well I knew the pain and disappointment that Elena's parents had suffered: a million girls brought forward, claiming to be the princess, giving a million different stories as to her disappearance. Some had even come to me first, trying to convince me that they were my betrothed, and though I had never been fooled, it still had unearthed painful memories and feelings that I tried to suppress. Could this girl be an imposter too? I wondered now as I watched her carefully eating the starter – a creamy onion soup – while politely making small talk with my parents and Lydia and simultaneously trying to avoid the curious eyes of the servants waiting on us, her cheeks slightly flushed by the red wine we were drinking. No, surely not. The difference between her and all the other would-be princesses was that she was not desperate to claim her crown, not trying to convince us of her authenticity. In fact, I had the distinct impression that she would rather be miles away from here – something which perhaps should not have bothered me quite so much.

The problem was, the more desperately I searched her features for Elena, the less and less certain I was of my claim. That she was more than an ordinary servant girl, I was sure. But that didn't mean she was a princess. Yes, she had the eyes, emerald-coloured, and the dark hair, but what else could I be definite about? There were lots of small dark-haired girls with green eyes – and she was so utterly convinced that she had a family, a life… I thought of how she had talked about her parents and little brother that afternoon in the garden – and sighed.

All the same, I had a few weeks to spend with her before her parents' letter would reach us, and I intended to spend that time well.

The next few days flew by. I was amazed at how quickly Helen fitted in. In her quiet way, she seemed to have an amazing ability to _know_ everything. Within days, she knew that Lydia and Marcus, Elena's older brother, were betrothed; that my father loved books and to discuss them; that nothing pleased my mother better than to tell stories of her homeland, and so on – she found the softer side to everyone. As a result of this, the next couple of weeks were the happiest we'd known as a family since Elena's disappearance. Anywhere Helen was, smiles seemed to follow, and several times I caught myself forgetting that she could be Elena and simply thinking of her as a friend who was becoming increasingly dear to me.

The biggest problem I had was Helen wanting to work. She had a constant need to be busy; when she wasn't avidly reading book after book – she gobbled them up greedily as if they were food – I would catch her tidying, or washing, or arranging, or carrying... When I tried to stop her, pointing out that it was not only completely unnecessary but ridiculous for her to act like a maid, she turned on me with the flash of temper I was beginning to expect.

"How dare you deprive me of the things that make me happy? I _want_ to help. The palace needed me when I was a maid; how does my change of status lessen that need? Just because you are quite possibly the laziest person in the entire country when it comes to housework does not entitle me to lie around doing nothing all day." And she turned up her nose and flounced off.

After that I left her alone more, but I noticed that she did make an effort to spend more time with me than work. I enjoyed her company so much that sometimes it was necessary to remind myself that she did not belong to me and that I should share her with others. I loved discovering the strange thoughts she held behind those wide, deceptively child-like eyes of hers. She had an opinion on everything; she was prone to overreacting and was frequently emotional over things I didn't understand; and she had her own individual way of viewing the world. Often I wished I could look through her eyes as if they were lenses and see everything the way she did. When I talked to her, the world would suddenly be bathed in a different light.

All the same, we had some blazing arguments, one of which began with my discovering Helen dusting the curtain rail in the Blue Room – one of my favourite rooms in the whole palace which she had adopted as a reading place. I was walking past the door on my way to my rooms – I'd just been to the stables for a ride – when I heard singing and curious, stopped to put my head in.

Helen was standing on a chair, up on her toes in her attempt to reach the top of the rail which she was caressing with a large yellow feather duster. As I watched, she carefully climbed down, returned the chair to its place and continued to dust all the book shelves and windowsills. She was singing under her breath, a tune that was beautiful but oddly haunting. I listened but couldn't make out the words clearly, and went in.

"What have I told you about doing the housework, Helen?"

She jumped, startled, and made as if to hide the duster behind her back, but realising the futility of the gesture brought out her 'so what?' face. Hastily I held up my hands. "All right, I'm only joking! Calm down. Are you having fun?"

"Yes, actually, I am." She sounded grumpy still so I invited her out for a walk in the gardens. It was a truly beautiful day today, the sun hot enough overhead that the shady garden paths were a cool relief, and Helen was wearing a light lacy dress that I remembered Lydia having worn but – I was sure of it – had never made her look like some kind of elf or wood fairy the way Helen did in it. She agreed to come with me, though I could tell her bad mood was hovering. I wondered if she was homesick.

As we walked along the corridors I noticed that she wasn't wearing any shoes. "Why are you barefoot? It's very unladylike of you, Helen." I had meant to tease her – I had noticed before that she had an odd penchant for textures and liked to _feel_ things with her hands and feet – but she glowered at me and I had the feeling that I was lucky to escape a scathing answer. Hurriedly I continued, "I liked the song you were singing. What was it?"

The question had an unexpected effect on her. Her eyes softened and her lips curved. "It's one of my favourites. It's an old folk song."

"Would you sing it to me?" I asked gently, wondering what happy memory was lighting up her face. I half anticipated that she would say no; I knew that she hated to do anything which would draw attention to her, but to my surprise she nodded dreamily and began to sing, just like that.

"_When I went out for a walk one day_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_The woods were filled with folk so fey_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_They called to me with songs of ice_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_And I did not need to listen twice_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_For their queen was there, so cold, so fair_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_She sang to me and held me there_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_Her eyes were blue, her skin was white,_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_Her flowing hair seemed made of light_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_Come back with me, my love, she said_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_And you and I shall soon be wed_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_But when I reached, she danced away_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_For with mortals' hearts she loves to play_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_I never saw her face again_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_For her kingdom lies past human ken_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_Yet every day we spend apart_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold_

_I search for she who stole my heart_

_On a winter morning, clear and cold."_

**Okay, I admit it - the song takes a little inspiration from Tolkien, though it's not nearly up to his standards. Also from La Belle Dame Sans Merci, which I've always loved. I hope it's not too cringey for you. Also, SmellofRoses, I promise I wrote this before I ever read your song chapter! Though I love yours since it's in Italian and I'm half Italian myself :D  
Thanks for reviewing, 4littlemckay and Bloody Phantom! Seriously, reviews just make my day and keep a smile on my face. They also banish the doubts that constantly haunt me (and most authors, I expect): 'This story is crap... no one would ever be interested... the plot is pointless... you might as well give up... NOBODY CARES!' So... thanks for giving me hope :P **


	16. Chapter 16

CALLUM

When she stopped singing, I shivered, in spite of the warm day. Her voice was so beautiful that I didn't want her to stop at all, but at the same time the words of the song were unsettling.

"It's sad," I said quietly. My words hung in the silence between us for a moment before she answered.

"I suppose it is. Most folk songs are, but I love it so much that it doesn't seem sad any more."

"I feel sorry for the poor mortal. It's not his fault the Ice Queen or whoever she is decided to make him fall in love with her."

She looked up at me very seriously. "But even if they had been truly in love, it would never have worked out. Mortals and fairies can never mingle, you see. They're too different." Her eyes had gone distant. "It always goes wrong in the end... He should have known better."

I wondered if we were still talking about the song. "There's an exception to every rule, Helen." Why did her dark eyes look so despairing?

"Not to this one. It's against the laws of nature."

I shivered again at the finality of her tone and attempting once more to lighten the tone of the conversation, commented, "Well, it is a lovely tune. Where did you learn it?"

"George taught it to me," she said, clearly without thinking for she immediately looked down and her cheeks flushed.

For absolutely no reason at all, I found it a little difficult than it usually was to get my next words out.

"Who's George?"

"A friend from home," she mumbled.

"Oh? How long have you known him for?" I was perfectly entitled to ask. I was simply continuing the conversation.

"A while," she said guardedly.

"Are you very close?" It wasn't as if I was interested anyway; just being polite.

"Well, he's my best friend." Surely there was no need for her to act quite so defensively?

"Is he now." My voice was completely neutral. As was my attitude. There was a moment of quiet as we walked on and I searched for more neutral things to say. "So if you're best friends he must have been upset when you left." Her cheeks crimsoned again and neutrality deserted me. "He was in love with you, wasn't he?"

"Your highness, you have no right to ask me this," she said quietly.

"I have every right! Did he ask you to marry him? Did he?"

Her dignity vanished as abruptly as my politeness. "It's none of your business!" she shouted, loud enough for the long corridor to echo, but neither of us looked round. She had stopped walking and was standing in her most belligerent attitude, which was not very effective. I towered over her, rage filling me completely. I knew that I was being completely irrational, but did not greatly care at this particular point in time.

"Actually, it is, because if you are the real princess then all previous attachments or engagements are nullified, so I hope your precious George got rejected from you because he's about to be whether you like it or not."

"How dare you pry into my private life?"

"This isn't about privacy! It's about duty!"

"Oh yes? More like it's about the fact that you can't stand not to be the centre of attention!"

I deflated a little. "That's not true."

"Of course it's true! And you're a pompous, arrogant, self-centred, completely spoilt idiot and it's no wonder Elena ran away from you because I would too if I were her."

Even through my fog of anger, this hurt more than it should have done. I floundered, trying to think of an answer. "Well I hope to goodness you're not her, because whoever marries you will want to commit suicide."

"Don't worry, your highness. Even if I was Elena, I'd find a way to break the betrothal."

"That's right, go back to your country lad and muck out the stables with him... how romantic."

"George is worth a million of you!"

"Then I'm sure you're very well suited to him." And not trusting myself not to grab her and shake her until her teeth rattled, I turned on my heel and strode away, to the door that led outside, and slammed it shut behind me with all my strength.

HELEN

For a moment I stood there, so angry that I was incapable of moving. Then, because it was the only escape I knew, I began to cry – hard, painful sobs at first that gradually became a flood of tears. I sat down on the floor with my arms round my knees and cried like a baby.

"It's not fair," I whispered to myself through my tears. "I want to go home where everyone loves me. I don't want to stay in this place where people shout at me and hate me and where everything is _wrong_." I missed my parents, I missed Bobby, I missed George and most of all I missed the peace I used to have – the quietness that comes from having spent a long day working hard and the simple contentment of seeing my family round the table.

Eventually I sobbed myself calm and just sat there, gazing at the floor. Outside the open window I could hear birds singing, and I wished that I could go home just by thinking of it.

The door opened and I looked up sharply. If it was Callum, I was going to run away, even if it meant jumping out of the window and into the rose bush.

It was Lydia. I steeled myself for sympathy, for disapproval – any reaction to the argument which she had probably heard... Instead, she came over, sat next to me, and put a letter in my lap.

"What's this?"

Her face was pure happiness. "Marcus wrote to me!"

"Oh." This certainly I had not been expecting. "What did he say?"

"Read it!"

I smiled and shook my head. "Lydia, I can't read your love letters. It's bad etiquette." (Was I really telling a princess how to behave?)

"Oh, all right then, but it's a lovely letter – saying that he'll see me soon! Well, at the midsummer ball. I can't wait! He's so busy at the moment because of course he has more and more responsibilities every day, but he promises that he'll come here one day and take me out for the day..." She continued to gabble on and I couldn't help laughing at her enthusiasm. But when she'd finished, I was thoughtful.

"What's Marcus like?" I said slowly. She looked up at me, shocked.

"Oh my goodness, Helen, I am so sorry! I forgot he's your... I mean... maybe your brother."

I swallowed. I couldn't imagine having a brother who wasn't Bobby, but after all, if... if in some unimaginable dimension, I _was_ the Princess, then maybe an older brother wouldn't be so bad.

"He's lovely. He's tall, but not as tall as Callum, with brown hair and brown eyes, and he has the most gorgeous smile. I never used to be close to him because I was so much younger... he's seven years older than me... but after y– after Elena disappeared we became closer, mainly because Callum wouldn't talk to him any more. He wouldn't talk to _anyone_. Our parents talked it over and decided that they still wanted an alliance between our families, so we were betrothed. And I suppose things just went on from there. I can't imagine life without him..." and a dreamy expression lit up her face. "It's a long time til we can be married – five years, but we'll wait."

"So is he Callum's best friend? He hasn't talked about him." It was somehow difficult to say the prince's name, and I hoped Lydia didn't notice how I stumbled over it.

"I know. They argued a while ago."

"About what?"

Lydia ducked her head in embarrassment. "Well, to be honest, I think Callum was just jealous that Marcus had found happiness, while he... well, you know the story, I'm sure. So he stopped talking to him and Marcus got really angry – he really has a Tanezian temper. They argued and shouted a lot and since then they've hardly spoken..."

I struggled with several emotions. Marcus had a temper, did he? Was it a family trait? _Stop it, Helen. Are you doubting your parents?_

"Brothers, eh?" said Lydia softly, watching my expression. "And speaking of them... my brother is an idiot."

I looked up sharply. "So you did hear, then?"

"Helen, I think most people within a five-mile radius of the palace heard."

I sighed and rubbed my forehead. "It was a monumentally stupid argument. He just really gets under my skin sometimes."

"I know," she said sympathetically. "But you have to remember that this is hard for him, too. He's spent the last four years of his life trying to forget the love of his life, and then you turn up and remind him of the entire thing. If you are Elena, great, but you've somehow lost everything you remember and everything he holds dear – your entire relationship – which must be pretty hard to deal with. And if you're not, well, you've unearthed a lot of things that he probably thought he'd managed to let go of."

She was right and I felt ashamed of my behaviour. "I'm an awful person," I groaned. "You're completely right. It's just he got so high-handed with me just now, as if I wasn't a person but a... possession of his."

The princess leaned forwards and held me with her dark eyes – exactly like those of her brother. "Helen, he does care about you."

"That's just it," I burst out. "I don't know what's going on! Does he only care because I might be Elena? Does he only make an effort in case I'm a princess? I don't know if he likes anything about the person I actually am! What if I'm not? Will he just drop me like a – " I couldn't think of a suitable description. "Like a... glove?"

"Of course he won't." But Lydia hadn't answered my real question, and embarrassment overwhelmed me as I realised the implication of my words – that I _wanted_ him to care about me as a person. It wasn't that, exactly... it was just that I didn't want him to be friends with me only because I might be someone else.

"Just go and find Callum," said his sister, interrupting my thoughts. "I promise you, he didn't mean what he said."

I looked at her for a moment, then made up my mind. "All right. I'll see you later."


	17. Chapter 17

HELEN

I already knew my way around the gardens, but it took me a while to find Callum. I checked his private garden to no avail, and it wasn't until I had wandered right to the furthest boundaries of the palace that I found him. The very last garden was a water-garden with fountains and streams and waterfalls, and he was sitting on a rock watching tiny fish flicker in and out of the currents. He had his head in his forehead, a position I knew signified with him either deep thought or depression, and I paused for a moment, trying to think of the right words. All my anger had gone, dissipated by my tears, and all I wanted to do now was mend things between us.

"Hello, Callum," I said softly, and he looked up so sharply that I jumped. "Sorry, I didn't mean to startle –"

"What did you say?" he interrupted me.

"Er... hello?"

"No. You said my name."

There was an awkward silence. "I... suppose I did," I said slowly, wishing I could take it back. I hadn't meant to use it... it had just slipped out.

"Well that's it. You've said it now. You can't unsay it. From now on you call me Callum."

I rolled my eyes. "Really there's no need for you to be so –"

"Callum," he said stubbornly.

"FINE. I'll call you Callum. Happy now?"

"Not until you've apologised properly to me," was his answer in a sulky tone, but his eyes were sparkling.

"I am not apologising to you! I had nothing to do with it. You got angry over nothing."

"It was not nothing," he began, but I didn't let him finish.

"NOTHING."

"Stop interrupting me!" he growled.

"You started it!"

"I did not!"

"You did!"

We stared at each other.

"Forget it?" he said eventually in a business-like tone.

"Forgotten," I said in an equally brisk voice.

For a while after that I just sat beside him and watched the water go by. We talked for a bit, about nothing in particular; he chucked stones into the water and I fought a growing urge to rest my head on his shoulder. This was mainly because I used to sit with George like this, with his arm round me, just quietly enjoying the peace of the moment. I hadn't realised til now how much I'd missed his companionship. I could tell Annie anything but there was a warmth about being with Callum that made me drop my guard in his presence.

"Tell me more about your accident," Callum said after a comfortable silence. I frowned at him.

"Why? I don't like talking about it," I said slowly, wishing he hadn't mentioned the subject. He persisted, however.

"Did you never try to see if a physician could do anything?"

I looked at him scornfully. "Of course I did! Do you think I live like this by choice? I've been to hundreds… well, lots of physicians and medical men and wise women but they all say the same thing."

"What do they say?"

"That my condition is unusual, that it's caused by trauma to my brain, and that there is little or no hope of recovery."

Callum didn't answer for a while and when I glanced at him, his lips were set firm as if to hold off pain. I wondered what had upset him so much, but refrained from asking. Eventually he said quietly, "Why is your… condition… unusual?"

Somehow, it didn't feel as bad talking to him about it as I'd thought it would. I was always afraid that people would laugh at me, or think I was strange, if I told them about my memory loss, but his eyes held no derision – only kindness. "Because most people that lose their memories lose all sense of self, too. Since I can't remember anything from babyhood, I should be in a regressive state – I shouldn't know how to talk or what objects are called or anything. But I do – I know that a cat is a cat and a bowl is a bowl, and I've always known about myself – things like I don't like butter or that strawberries are my favourite food. Basically, I have a selective memory loss, which is very strange."

He nodded, absorbing this. His eyes were cast down, so I let myself look at him just a little longer than was really polite. He had a strong, handsome profile; I couldn't help noticing how long his eyelashes were. Just as I was thinking this, his eyes looked up to mine, and I went crimson as I realised that I'd been staring. I hastily started gabbling in the hope of distracting him – and myself (why was my heart drumming so loudly in my ears?). "The physician did say that I might have a chance of being cured, although he said it would take time and patience…" He was listening to me, black eyes steady on my face, and I wished I would stop blushing like an idiot.

"What chance?" he asked gently, though I had the sudden impression that underneath the softness was an urgent need to know.

"Well, the physician said that the only time my subconscious would feel safe enough to release the memories – particularly of the accident – would be when I felt fully safe and secure, when I knew that I could really let go of all my tension and stress. But I don't know if he was right, because I've been safe and secure with my family for four years now and I've never remembered anything."

The prince nodded seriously, but in his velvety eyes there was a spark of something that was not quite amusement and not quite mockery – a challenge that I rose to.

"And now?" he murmured, eyes searching my face, which I suddenly realised was so close to his that I could feel his breath warm on my cheek. "Do you feel _secure_ now?"

My mind went absolutely blank and I couldn't even begin to frame an answer to his question. "Wh-what did you say?" I stuttered in confusion.

The corner of his mouth went up and he leaned back as if he had suddenly realised how close he was. "Do you feel secure here?"

I struggled to reply through a confusion of emotions. "Well... yes... and no," I murmured. "I miss my home and family and everything else I ever knew. My situation is so completely uncertain that how can I feel any kind of security?"

"But?" the prince prompted.

"But..." and I looked down for there was no way I could say it while looking into his eyes, "I have found you, and Annie, and the princess Lydia, and that is friendship I had never looked for."

I dared not look up in the silence that followed. What was wrong with me? Why had I gone all soft and pathetic like the heroine of some soppy fairytale for children? The Helen I knew, the Helen I used to be, was strong, self-assured, forthright. She never let people in. The only ones she had time for were her family and George. Where had she gone? I didn't know and I didn't know how to get her back. All I could do was wait for the prince to answer me.

"Thank you, Helen," he said finally, but his tone was neutral and I couldn't tell how he was feeling. Still staring at the ground, I muttered, "You're welcome, your highness."

Then my heart jumped as his fingers touched my chin and gently tipped it up so that I had to look at him. "I told you. It's Callum," he whispered and his lips were so close to mine that if he moved a fraction he would be kissing me.

CALLUM

All I could think was _why aren't I kissing her already?_ and had there been no interruption, I would have done, but before I could do anything there was a polite but determined cough from behind us.

We sprang apart and Helen's cheeks grew so red that I had to swallow a laugh. Casually, I turned to John – for of course it was John – and asked him what he wanted.

"His Majesty the King is looking for you, your highness. He has some affairs he would like to discuss with you."

"Thank you, John. Tell him I will be with him in a moment."

He bowed and departed, leaving us with a very awkward silence. We couldn't quite meet each other's eyes.

"Well, I'd better go," I said eventually, ashamed that I couldn't bring myself to do either of the things I wanted to – apologise or actually get on and kiss her.

"Aren't you afraid he'll tell your father?" asked Helen timidly.

I could have said, "Tell him what?" but it would have made the entire situation even worse, so I just reassured her with a "No, no, John always keeps my secrets."

As I walked back to the palace – it was a considerable way – I couldn't restrain a sense of joy, despite the awkwardness of the previous few moments. All I could think of was Helen – Helen singing, Helen saying my name in her serious, quiet voice, Helen's eyes turned on me with her shy yet smiling regard...

My father had wanted me to go over some business with him, which took one or two hours, and by the time it was finished I leant back exhausted in my chair, the best part of my good mood gone. The back of my neck ached and I rubbed it.

"It's tiring being King," said my father, watching me with a knowing grin. "But you'll get used to it."

"You're talking like it's going to happen any moment," I said, tipping my chair back. "With any luck I won't have to rule til I'm at least old as you."

"Callum, I've told you not to do that, and you know as well as I do that things could change at any moment." He looked grim and I bit my lip, wishing I hadn't said anything; I knew the pain he'd gone through when his father had died, leaving him the throne at barely eighteen. Before I could apologise, he changed the subject. "No letter from Helen's parents yet... we shouldn't have to wait for too much longer hopefully."

It took me a moment to think what he was referring to, and when I realised, my eyes widened in shock. "Yes," I said distractedly, my mind whirling. How could I have forgotten? I'd been thinking of Helen as... well, not as Elena – as someone who more and more was becoming a part of my life. I'd actually forgotten about Elena, for hours at a time. I'd betrayed her! How could I? What if Helen really was Elena, and I'd been acting as though she wasn't? What if Helen _wasn't_, and I'd been falling –

No, I wouldn't say it. That would make it a lot too real for comfort.

I'd been so stupid. I shouldn't have been letting Helen in to my heart like this. I should have got to know her as a friend, then whatever happened I would have been able to cope with...

"Callum?" My father was waving a hand in front of my eyes. I blinked.

"Um, what?"

He leaned forward with narrowed eyes. "Are you all right? You went off into a real daydream."

"I'm fine," I said absently. "I've got to go."


	18. Chapter 18

CALLUM

Back in my room I paced agitatedly around my sitting room. I needed to distance myself from Helen, at least until the famous letter came and told us whether there was a chance of her being the Princess. But it would be difficult – ridiculously so. Lately I had got into a habit of knocking on her door whenever I had nothing to do and inviting her to go and sit in the library, or have a warm drink in my garden, or go for a walk with Lydia, or go and visit the horses. If I'd spent a whole day without her, I missed her – it was simple as that. And when the letter did come? I had no idea. Up until now I'd had a vague notion that her parents would have various objects hidden away that proved her parentage – didn't babies in fairytales that had come from a royal family always arrive wrapped in a blanket with their initials on or something? And the rough but good-hearted shepherd would gratefully give up his adopted daughter to her real parents, for they had so much more to give her.

But that was in stories and this was real, and even through my confusion I knew that it wouldn't be that simple. Elena had been sixteen when she'd disappeared, not a baby. And even if she was adopted – though how could she be unaware of that fact? – that didn't prove that she was a princess...

I thought myself into a stupor and ended up sitting on a chair staring blankly at the wall. When the knock came on my door, I nearly jumped out of my skin.

"Your – Callum?" It was Helen's voice. She sounded nervous... not nearly as nervous as I was. I steeled myself and got up to answer the door.

"Hello."

"Hello."

I managed to stop myself saying hello a third time. "Were you looking for me?"

"Um, yes. Lydia sent me to come and find you. We're going to play cards in the library."

"Oh." Usually I would have jumped at the chance. Helen was terrible at card games and I greatly enjoyed teasing her about it, as well as her annoyance whenever I beat her, which was most of the time. I banished an image of her sitting across the table for me, brow creased in concentration as she tried to figure out which cards to put down, a stray tendril of hair falling across her face so that she had to tuck it behind her ear, and shook my head. "Sorry, Helen, I'm... busy."

She stared doubtfully into the noticeably empty room behind me. "Oh... all right."

"I, er, have some papers to sign," I lied wildly and pulled the door closed behind me. "But I'll see you later."

She nodded, and I could see the hurt in her eyes. As she walked away I wanted to run after her and explain that I just couldn't be near her all the time because it was distracting me from my priorities, but I had no idea how to say that and anyway I wasn't sure how well that would be received.

With a sigh, I closed the door behind her and resigned myself to a quiet night in.

HELEN

That week we argued more than I'd argued with anyone in my life. Somehow all our friendship and warmth seemed to have vanished, and what upset me was that I had no idea why.

Well... that wasn't quite true. I could guess why; I just didn't want to accept it.

Clearly, Callum had changed his mind about me, and just in time too, for if we'd not been interrupted, I doubted I would have been able to move away from his kiss. I refused myself to let myself think about what that meant. All I knew was that the prince was no longer my friend, and as a result my loneliness and depression began to creep back. More than ever, I felt isolated; I was neither a servant nor a member of the family; I was like an uninvited guest who is welcomed politely but reluctantly. I spent most of my time in the rose garden, which was my favourite place to sit in solitude, and whenever I came across Callum we argued. Our disputes were about the most ridiculous things: what time it was, whether it was cold or not, an unfriendly look or comment... I reacted badly to everything he said because I felt hurt and angry at his cold shoulder, and he must have had something on his mind because he was just as edgy as I was. The worst thing was that we didn't make up after arguing, like we had previously. Every day ended with one of us walking away in silence.

Lydia was extremely distressed by this turn of events and kept trying to patch it up between us. "I'm sure he didn't mean it," she'd say to me. "He's just stressed... maybe if you apologised..."

Eventually I turned on her. "Lydia, drop it! He doesn't want to know, all right? It doesn't matter any more whether he thinks I'm the princess or not. He hates me either way, and to be honest, he's not my favourite person in the world right now. I just want to go home."

"He doesn't hate you," pleaded his sister. "I know he doesn't. He must have a reason for behaving like this."

"I don't care any more, Lydia. I'm sorry." And I went out to hide myself in my room and bury my head in my current book.

The nightmares started that night.

When I first began to recover from the accident – back at home in the village – I used to have dreams of my life, from before I had lost my memory. I knew it was my life because every time I awoke from such a dream, I would have an aching sense of loss and longing, for try as I might I could never remember anything – not a face, not a word. Gradually, as I grew accustomed to my strange situation, these faded, but never completely disappeared. Occasionally when I was feeling particularly emotional, either stressed or happy, my sleep would be marred by another stray nightmare.

This time it was slightly different. I'd fallen asleep early, trying to get rid of the headache that had been bothering me for a good few days now, and when I woke up I was hot and confused, unable to remember the dream but knowing that it had been the same memory of my life as before. It was only when I looked around me that I realised I was still dreaming.

I was somewhere that was dearly familiar, but, dream-like, I could not make out where. It could have been a garden, or it could have been home – and suddenly I had a desperate need to find my family, knowing that every second I spent searching was a danger to them. I ran through mist, through brambles, over walls, through endless dark corridors: calling and calling, crying out. I stumbled and fell countless times but I could not stop myself from running; my breath came in ragged sobs; I began to scream their names, but only an echo mocked me. A new sound alerted me and I looked round... behind me, a wall of fire advanced, hissing, spitting, crackling; I knew it wanted me.

I ran screaming through thick choking smoke, the sound of my death following me.

CALLUM

I couldn't sleep. I'd gone to bed late, hoping to have tired myself out by a long and exhausting walk, but my mind wouldn't rest. I'd tossed and turned so many times that eventually I'd given up altogether and got out of bed, half-dressed myself and sat down with a book in the strong moonlight on the balcony. Gradually the peace of the night began to penetrate and soon I was beginning to feel sleepy at last. I was just about to close my book and get back into my bed when a scream shattered the night and made me drop my book. A girl's scream, from Helen's window. It was closely followed by another.

I was out of the door before I'd made a conscious decision; my only thought was _Helen's in danger_. I sprinted to her room, only a few feet away, and banged on the door. No answer; only the screams. Very well, then. I pushed in, ran through her sitting room, opened the door to her bedroom.

Annie, Helen's maid, was leaning over the bed, and she straightened up when she saw me. Her wide, scared eyes met mine. "I can't get her to quiet down, sir," she said frantically.

Helen's eyes were closed, but her hands clutched wildly at empty air, her head turning as if she was searching for something. Tears covered her cheeks and soaked her nightdress, and she continued to scream. I caught a couple of names amongst the more incoherent sounds. "_Bobby! _Please! Someone help! Mother!"

"I thought she was being attacked, or she was ill," explained Annie, her words tumbling over each other. "But I think she's dreaming. I can't get her to wake or calm down. I don't know what to do... she'll wake up the entire palace at this rate."

I had never felt more helpless. I opened my mouth to make a useless suggestion, when Helen started calling me, so loudly that I jumped. "_CALLUM! _Where are you?_ Callum!"_

Annie and I looked at each other, and I knew we were both thinking the same thing. She gave me a small nod, and I made up my mind. Approaching the bed, I sat on it carefully, and reached for Helen. Her skin felt as cold as ice, and I shivered and pulled her towards me, wrapping my arms around her. At first she struggled, but I did not let go and gradually her desperate shrieks became quiet sobs. I forgot that Annie was there with me. I forgot that I should be keeping my distance from her. I forgot that I was a prince and that if I was discovered in a girl's room it could put me in an extremely awkward situation; I forgot everything but the need to comfort her, to soothe her. "Shhh," I whispered, stroking her cold forehead. Her long hair was plaited but it had come mostly undone; I smoothed it down. "Shh, my darling, it's going to be all right." Time stopped moving while I watched her recover. Her breathing slowed, and her expression became peaceful; she lay in my arms, her head resting on my chest and one hand clutching my shoulder. Only when I was sure that she was peacefully sleeping did I remember Annie, and look up. The maid was watching us with a smile on her face.

"Well done, your highness," she whispered.

"I'm afraid to move in case she wakes," I answered as quietly as I could.

She was thoughtful. "How long can you stay here?"

_Forever. _"As long as I need to." She nodded, and I had the odd feeling that I had just passed a test.

"I will go back to bed, your highness; it seems I am not needed. Don't worry. I won't tell Helen about this." Our gaze met again in mutual understanding, and she gave me a slight smile and left the room.

I looked down at Helen. She was beautiful asleep, even with her eyelashes spiky and her cheeks still wet with tears. Holding her so close to me, I could no longer deny what I felt: that she was, and always would be, a part of me. I wasn't entirely sure how it had happened, and I certainly had no idea how it would end, but somehow she had crept into my heart, and I knew that it would be incredibly hard to get her out.

I could have stayed there with her all night, just watching her; I didn't feel tired, but eventually the sky began to get light outside the window and I resigned myself to the fact that I had to leave before she woke up. I leaned down to press my lips softly against her temple: yes, she was warm now, and her pulse beat slow and regular. Reluctantly I drew back, before I gave in to my urge to kiss her neck and shoulder and mouth until she woke up, and carefully got out from under her. When I let go of her, she gave a small sigh in her sleep as if of loss, and my self-control almost cracked: I'd never wanted anything more than I wanted to climb back into bed with her. Instead I tucked the blankets round her, gave her one gentle kiss on her forehead, and left the room.

**Fluff, fluff, fluff and fluff. Thanks again for all reviews :) :)**


	19. Chapter 19

**Short chapter again. We're getting to the end of what I've already written, so please let me know if you think it's worth continuing! Otherwise I'll not be motivated to start writing again... **

HELEN

When I finally woke, it was because Annie was shaking me, and for one confused moment I was back in the servant's attic and it was time to get up and start work. But when I opened my eyes it was to see the rich hangings of my 'princess bed' – which though comfortable still gave me shivers when I thought of Elena sleeping in it for some reason.

"Helen. Wake up, it's really late."

I dragged myself up onto one elbow and with the other hand rubbed my eyes. "Is it? Why didn't I wake up?" Before she could answer me, I remembered. "I had a nightmare!"

"You most certainly did," was Annie's slightly sharp reply. "I've never heard you scream so loud!"

"What? I screamed? Oh no," I groaned, trying to remember the dream clearly. I couldn't really summon up any idea of it other than being terribly afraid and running for my life. And then... I did remember something. I'd been running, and there had been a cliff, and I jumped, and I thought I was going to die – but someone had caught me in their arms, and cuddled me and comforted me until I'd felt secure. After that, nothing.

But I decided not to tell Annie that. For one thing, she might read too much into it, and for another, saying it out loud would be like admitting that I wished it was true.

For whatever reason – I could never quite pin it down – Callum seemed to forget his cool-and-distant facade from then on and our relationship was just as before... apart from some minor changes. Somehow we never seemed to be alone together, and I noticed that Callum would make subtle excuses to have someone else in the room. I tried not to read too much into this, since if I did it would imply that I cared, but I couldn't help feeling both a little hurt (did he not trust me?) and determined to get him alone, just to laugh at his insecurity (and maybe figure out what was going on).

It was the end of a week of this behaviour and we were playing cards with Lydia as we did most evenings now. Callum wasn't being as sharp as he usually was; he kept putting down the wrong cards, and he didn't react to my teasing as he usually did either. Eventually I sighed and put my cards down. "Callum, what's wrong? You're not playing very well at all."

"What? Oh, sorry. I'm really tired." His eyes did look a bit unfocused. "I, er... haven't been sleeping too well lately."

"That's funny... I haven't either," I said thoughtfully. "I've been having nightmares... maybe it's the weather."

"Mmm," he said noncommittally. "I've been working quite hard. My father has a lot for me to do these days."

Lydia got up and went round the table to where he was kneeling. "You need a break," she said, giving him a hug. "You should go out for a ride or something."

"Maybe," he yawned. "Look, I need to go to bed..."

"Just go, silly," Lydia grinned affectionately. "Goodnight." She reached up on tiptoe to kiss him on the cheek.

"Night, Lydia. Night, Helen."

"Goodnight," I said absently. I was hatching a plan; we continued the game until Lydia gave up in disgust claiming that I was just as bad as Callum. I left her tidying up the cards, but I didn't go straight to bed. I had some things to sort out.

CALLUM

I only got about three hours of sleep before I automatically woke up, thinking I heard Helen. I listened, but there was silence; all the same, I crept out of my room – hoping not to wake John, who probably knew about my nightly escapades but had not said a word about them – and into hers. She was clearly dreaming, but her nightmares had gradually got better over the last week and now she was far calmer than before; only restless twitches and some mumbling betrayed the fact that she was not sleeping peacefully. In a move which by now was well-rehearsed, I got onto the bed and pulled her to me, somehow needing to feel her against me more than she probably needed my touch. I stroked her forehead until she sighed and fell into a deeper sleep. She said my name twice first, though, and I couldn't help smiling.

When she was quiet, I permitted myself to do something that so far I had completely forbidden: to daydream. Just for five minutes, I imagined that Elena had never existed; that Helen and I had met and fallen in love and married and had beautiful children. That we would fall asleep side by side _every_ night and wake up every morning together; that we would face every new problem as a team, and never be divided. Just for one second, all of that was true, and I only had to kiss her softly on the forehead and she would wake and smile into my eyes. Then I pushed that future deep down inside my mind where it could no longer betray Elena's memory, and concentrated instead on the truth – the uncertain, fragile, yet strangely beautiful truth. Any day now, the letter containing proof of Helen's identity would arrive, and it had the potential to shatter everything for me, for us. Did she think that there was something to shatter? I did not really know; I couldn't often read her green eyes, but the murmured sound of my name in her sleep – surely I meant _something_ to her.

She stirred and I realised with a start that dawn light was creeping in through the half-open curtains. Had I dozed off or just lost track of time? I wasn't sure but either way it was time to leave. As soon as I got up, exhaustion pulled on me like gravity. I barely was able to keep my eyes open as I stumbled back into my room, and the moment my head hit the pillow I was out like a light.


	20. Chapter 20

**I had problems with this chapter: I wanted to split it halfway, but that made it really short and I felt my readers deserved a long one after the last one. So if the ending seems a little awkward that's why. A million thanks to my reviewers, it makes me so happy when I see people like the story :)  
Also, I don't usually write to a soundtrack, but one of my favourite songs ever is 'Fallin' For You' by Colbie Caillat, and it seems to fit the next two chapters perfectly. **

CALLUM

What seemed like five seconds later, I was woken up by a sound and opened my eyes to see Helen standing over me.

"_Whoa_," I said groggily, instinctively pulling my bedsheet closer around me even though I was still wearing pyjama trousers. Somehow I felt more vulnerable than usual when facing her without my shirt on. "What the hell are you doing in here?"

She was more excited than I'd ever seen her look. "Get up! It's time to go!"

"What are you talking about?" She was dressed oddly and it took my sleep-fuddled brain a few moments to work out that she was wearing neither Lydia's clothes nor her maid's uniform. Her dress was just a simple tunic, such as a peasant girl might wear to work in, with close-fitting leggings worn underneath. She actually looked really good in it. "And why are you dressed like that?"

"I had an idea. We're going out for the day."

I had a lot of questions at this point, but the one that got there first was _"Why_?"

"Because you need a break, of course!" she said impatiently as if I should have realised this by now. "You need a day out when you don't need to do anything tiring, like riding, so I'm taking you to the market."

I shook my head. This was far too much to take in, especially at what must be around six o'clock in the morning. "We could just tell my parents that we're going out."

"What, and then ride to town in a golden carriage and graciously lean out of the window to wave at the grovelling sellers? No no, my friend, we are going ANONYMOUSLY." She said it like that, in capitals.

"We can't, the King and Queen would never let me," I began, but she interrupted me by chucking some clothes in my face.

"That's why we're going now, genius. Put these on. We have to make sure no one will recognise you." She perched herself on the end of my bed while I gingerly picked up the ragged shirt on top of the pile. It _smelt_ clean, but that was about all that could be said for it. The trousers beneath it weren't much better, and as for the short jacket, it had certainly seen better days… apparently about a hundred years ago. "Where on earth did you get these from?"

"Oh, one of the gardeners," she said instantly, as if it was the most normal thing in the world. "They like me," she added matter-of-factly as I raised an eyebrow. "Come on, put them on, we can't waste time."

"There is no way I am putting them on with you in here."

"Well get into the bathroom then! And you _may_ wash, but be quick, cos the servants were up hours ago and it won't be long before the others are too."

I couldn't help laughing at her bossy manner, even though I would have possibly sold my soul for another hour in bed at this point. All the same, her excitement was infectious, so I obediently washed and dressed quickly and came out. "Don't laugh," I said wryly. But she didn't. She only nodded, with a faint smile hovering around her mouth.

"You look good. Definitely un-prince-like. But you need to wear your hair differently or people might still recognise you. Here," and she came up to me and brushed my hair over my forehead. Her cool touch made me want to close my eyes. "That's better."

"Now what?" I asked her, realising that for today at least nothing I said would carry any weight. She was in charge. "Do I bring any money?"

She thought about it for a bit but clearly could see the practical side of things. "Yes, but not too much," she said eventually. "Just bring some coppers and maybe a couple of silver pieces. We have to look poor." I rolled my eyes and tucked some coins into my one hole-less pocket.

"Now we go," she told me, and pulled me towards the door.

"Wait, are you crazy? I don't have any shoes on!" Even as I said it, I noticed that she was barefoot too. "Oh, no," I said firmly, shaking my head. "There is no way I'm spending a day without shoes."

"Come _on_!" she pleaded, giving me a wide-eyed look that there was no way I'd be able to resist. "No one wears shoes in the summer! And it feels _nice_. Also, there's no way anyone will think you're a prince if you're barefoot!"

"Oh, all right," I sighed, and I let her lead me out the door.

We sneaked out of the palace, which involved climbing some rails when the guard's back was turned, and walked through fields until realisation dawned.

"Wait a minute, this isn't the way to town! Where are we going?"

"Don't worry, we'll go there later," she promised. "But we need to have breakfast first, and anyway the market doesn't open for another hour or so. Come on, I'm taking you to somewhere really amazing."

I sighed again and followed her. To my surprise, however, I was beginning to enjoy the moment. It was incredibly nice to feel free of my responsibilities, if only for a few hours. Helen was right, it _was_ nice to feel the grass against my feet, and the sky was so blue overhead as the sun rose that I forgot about my reservations about time with her and ran to catch her up.

'Somewhere amazing' turned out to be a little hollow in a field where the grass was shorter and greener and daisies starred the ground. Here we ate breakfast, she sitting with her legs crossed and her back straight, I lying on my side and looking up at her thinking how beautiful she was. The food was simple, some bread and cheese and apples to follow, but it had never tasted as good to me as it did that morning under the hot sun with the scented breeze all around us.

"So what's our backstory?" I asked when I'd finished my apple. She grinned.

"Well, I'm your sister, and we're from a farm way out in the country, but we've come to market for a holiday because our aunt lives in town and we're spending a night at her house. You're called..." she screwed up her nose in an effort to think and came out with, "Ben and I'm Hannah and you help our father on the farm while I milk the cows and cook food for you, because our mother died four years ago. How's that?"

I laughed with her. "All right," I allowed, "but there's one detail missing."

"What?"

"I know milk-maids usually wear plaits, but on a holiday don't you think you'd want to take your hair down?" I was teasing her, but I also really wanted to see her hair down because I never had before.

"Oh, I suppose so," she said, trying to frown but failing, and with quick fingers she unpinned the plaits from the top of her head and shook her hair out. I stared as it cascaded around her shoulders, past her waist. It was so beautiful; thick and curly, dark brown but shot through with glints of red and gold, shining in the sunlight. I reached out and let a lock of it slide through my fingers, marvelling at its softness, and found myself wishing I could bury my face in it and breathe in.

"Hey, Ben," she said suddenly, and I jumped at the unfamiliar name. Her eyes, framed by chestnut hair, shone especially green. "Come on, let's go. I promise, this will be an amazing day."

HELEN

I spent the half-hour walk into the city trying to teach Callum to speak in a voice that was less like royalty and more like a farmer boy. The local dialect was familiar to him – after all most of the servants spoke it – but he kept almost getting it and then accidentally breaking out into what I laughingly called 'posh' language. For a while I was convinced he was genuinely unable to master it, but then I realised he was doing it on purpose and pushed him away, laughing. He pushed me back and by the time we reached the centre where the majority of stalls were set up we were flushed and breathless. I'd forgotten how much I enjoyed his company.

"Wow," Callum/Ben said, pausing in the middle of a sentence. "I haven't been here for ages... I forgot how busy it gets." I followed his gaze and smiled. The scene reminded me of home.

There were market stalls everywhere. In the square where we stood now, most of them were food stalls; one long table groaning under the weight of massive wheels of cheese, with people standing by to offer you tempting little bits of cheese and then cut up the one you chose; another piled with all the kinds of meat you could possibly imagine; a third smelling deliciously of the bread it was showcasing. Already, although it was barely eight in the morning, people were bargaining loudly, chattering among themselves, shouting to advertise their wares, calling to each other across the crowd. We plunged into the people and were immediately swallowed up into the hot, noisy world of the market. Wandering from stall to stall, we gazed wide-eyed at the displays. On the fruit stall, basket upon basket of brightly coloured berries glistened like precious stones against a backdrop of succulent oranges and strawberries redder than blood. We tried some cold spiced meat and marvelled at the intricate shapes that loaves of bread had been baked into. There was a bakery stall which drew us and held us for at least half an hour, fascinating us with its neatly marshalled rows of iced cupcakes, sticky pastries oozing butter, warm doughnuts dusted with sugar like snow, and bowls of biscuits cut into figures and decorated with currants. Callum handed over a couple of coppers and we each chose a treat: mine one of the pastries that was filled with juicy raisins and had been drizzled with honey because it reminded me of the kind of thing I would buy as a very rare extravagance from the bakery at home, and Callum one of the gingerbread men because it was _not_ sticky and he could be barbarous and bite its head off – which he promptly did. His fear of sticky fingers, however, did not prevent him from grabbing my hand and taking a bite from my pastry, despite my complaints.

"Ugh, that's disgusting," he said after swallowing the mouthful. "There must be about ten spoonfuls of sugar in each mouthful. How can you even eat it?"

"That'll teach you to steal other people's food," I retorted, scowling at him. "Now you have to give me some of yours."

He held up his figure, which was now headless and armless. "There isn't much of it left, I'm afraid. Which would you prefer – the left or right leg?"

I pretended to think. " Hmm... well there is indisputable evidence that left legs are usually more delicious."

He immediately broke off the left leg and put it whole into his mouth. "Hey!" I complained. "That's just mean!"

"Here you go, then," and he broke off the chest of the former man. "You can have the heart, seeing as you already have mine." He bowed flamboyantly as he said it and looked down at me with a twinkle in his dark eyes so that I wasn't sure if he was joking or not, but I took the piece of cookie anyway and bent it in two before eating them one by one. "Heartbreaker," he teased, and I waved my sticky fingers towards him threateningly so that he stepped back in surrender. "All right, all right, don't get that stuff on me!"

By now we had wandered out of the food section and into a narrower road where the stalls were selling all sorts of miscellaneous objects, from dresses to bags to jewellery to wooden puppets to animals to sweets. I kept being entranced by one thing, such as an adorable little caged bird which sang sweetly, but then seeing something else out of the corner of my eye and running over to see it – a gorgeous soft scarf that glittered with gold thread, or little carved wooden animals, or a miniature flute. He laughed at my childish eagerness to see everything, but I ignored him; I was enjoying myself. I desperately wanted to buy a little wooden dog for Bobby, who had always wanted a puppy, but I knew that I wouldn't be seeing him for a while so I promised myself the pleasure of buying it the next time I had the opportunity, if I hadn't found something nicer.


	21. Chapter 21

**Over a thousand views! Yay! I've started writing again, but just to warn you, after the next two chapters the updates will probably be a lot slower. **

HELEN

Eventually we came to a stall selling necklaces and I couldn't resist them; sneaking a glance at Callum, who was engrossed on the other side of the road with a small stone statue of a horse, I began to sort through them. I was wearing, as always, my golden locket from George but I had always secretly wanted a necklace with a snowdrop on it, as a reminder of my father's nickname for me. I knew that the likelihood of finding one was small and that of being able to afford it was smaller still but all the same I always looked for one whenever I found a place selling jewellery.

Of course, I didn't find one, but just as I was about to turn away, disappointed, a glint caught my eye and I was faced with the most beautiful necklace I had ever seen. "Oh," I said quietly, experiencing for the first time the feeling of wanting something at all costs and knowing that I couldn't have it. It was a slender silver chain, and the pendant was not a snowdrop but a tiny snowflake in silver – delicate and fragile, intricate yet simple. The man behind the stall saw my look of longing and reached up to unhook it, handing it to me wordlessly. I held it and tried to be rational. It was a piece of jewellery: nothing more. A material object that I could perfectly well do without. But I _wanted_ it.

I shook my head. "I can't," I said to the man, remembering to use the right accent rather than the educated one my parents had always insisted on (for which I had been eternally grateful when Callum dropped me in the middle of royal life). "I don't have any money." This was a lie – I had a handful of coppers – but this necklace would certainly cost far more than I could afford.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" he answered me, reaching for it and holding it up tantalizingly. "Would suit your looks." I wondered if he could tell that I was not just a farm girl, for if he thought I could definitely not buy it then he would likely have shooed me away by now.

I sighed but before I could refuse it again, two arms were put around my waist and Callum rested his head on my shoulder from behind. I jumped, both at the suddenness and the intimacy of the gesture. "What's going on here?" he said into my ear, and I was relieved to hear that he too was remembering to speak in the right dialect.

I was about to say _nothing, let's move on_ but the man got in before me. "Your wife was just looking at this necklace," he said shamelessly to Callum. "And I was telling her how beautiful it was, just like her."

I opened my mouth to say that I was certainly _not_ his wife (I was meant to be his _sister!_) and that anyway I _didn't want _the necklace, but this time Callum interrupted me. "Is that so? Let's have a look." He let go of me and picked up the blasted necklace.

"Callum, put it down," I said, irritated. "There's no way you can afford it, and I don't need it anyway. I have my locket." His eyes narrowed. The fact that the locket was a present from George had been the subject of one of our many arguments.

"How much?" he asked the stall-owner by way of answer.

"For young love?" he said slyly, sensing a potential sale. "Only forty pieces of silver." I gasped. That was actually less expensive than I'd thought it would be, but all the same was equivalent to several months' worth of wages for a farm worker – and a lot of food for a family. Anyway, that settled it. I'd told Callum to only take a couple of silvers.

"I'll take it," was therefore the last thing I'd expected him to say.

"Callum!" I exclaimed. "You don't have the money!"

"My darling 'Hannah', nothing is too good for my wife," he said, looking down at me with that challenging spark in his eyes. "I've been saving for a while." He winked at me and pulled out a folded note worth ten pieces of gold – two more than was needed. He must have somehow slipped it into his pocket without me noticing. I was speechless. I couldn't tell him that I wasn't his wife and therefore had no right to his money because it would blow our cover, and anyway I knew that eight gold coins was not very much to a prince, but I didn't _need_ the necklace, but I wanted it _so badly_, but did it signify something I shouldn't agree to...? Conflicting emotions continued to render my faculty of speech unavailable as Callum handed over the change and received the necklace in return, packaged up elegantly.

"Well, aren't you going to thank me?" he grinned as we walked away from the extremely happy jewellery seller.

"You – I – what – " was all I could manage.

"You're welcome." He had been holding my hand, but now he let go and put his arm round my waist, hugging me as we walked – which made it rather difficult to progress. I finally managed to get a complete sentence out.

"_What_ are you doing?"

"Just keeping up the backstory," he said into the back of my neck. It tickled, but in a nice way, and I tried and failed to keep from smiling. "I have to look like I'm genuinely in love with you."

"Callum, you're meant to be my _brother_!" Somehow my voice wasn't coming out as sternly as I wanted it to. "Get _off _me!"

His grip, which was strong enough to keep me from breaking it, didn't loosen. "Now, is that the way to thank your husband who's just spent all his savings on a trinket for you? I could've bought a good cow with that money, you know..."

"Get off!" I repeated, but with less conviction. I was actually dying to laugh now, but I did not want him to know that I'd let him get away with his ridiculous behaviour.

"No," he said stubbornly, and I gave up and began to laugh.

"Fine. Give me my necklace," I said breathlessly. Finally, he let go of me to give me the little package. I clutched it tightly. "Thank you," I whispered. "You don't know how much it means to me."

"Don't I?" was all he said, but his eyes were as soft as I'd ever seen them. "Come here, I'll put it on for you."

I turned my back on him and held my heavy mass of hair out the way while he took off my locket and fastened the new necklace around my neck. I slipped the locket into my bag, thinking that I probably should feel guiltier about having replaced it, then pushed it from my mind. Turning round, I faced him with a smile I couldn't quite help and he surveyed me seriously. I suddenly remembered that I was wearing my home clothes, and, realising how incongruous the beautiful necklace would look with the rough material, waited for him to burst out laughing. But he didn't even smile. He just nodded, and took my hand, and we carried on walking through the streets.

Some time later, we came to the end of the market. I felt almost drunk with colours, with all the clothes and objects and foods I had seen. I also felt extremely hungry again. I was just about to say this – we had finished all my food supply for breakfast – when he asked me what I wanted to do for lunch.

"Well, I assumed we'd go back to the food court, but I don't mind where we eat it," I said happily. "Although," I added as an afterthought, "I wouldn't mind sitting down for it..."

"All right," Callum answered, looking around uncertainly. "Er, it's been a while since I was here and I can't quite remember where... I mean... well actually I've never properly been around town," he finished with an air of confessing a shameful secret. My mouth fell open.

"You mean to tell me that you've lived here all your life and you've never explored Tesserie?"

"I've been through it," he protested. "In a carriage through the main streets. I just haven't seen _all_ of it..."

I rolled my eyes. "All right. I shall have to put this right. But food first."


	22. Chapter 22

**I got writing fever and wrote about four thousand words today, so you're getting this chapter early. In case you missed it, the song for the last two chapters (and part of this one) is Fallin' For You, by Colbie Caillat.**

**Also, shout out to SmellofRoses, solangedrake and 4littlemckay. Thanks for sticking with me! Lots of exciting drama coming up! **

CALLUM

We ate our lunch, which was an assortment of cold meats, bread, cheese and fruit, at a park that Helen knew because she used to take her little cousins to feed the ducks there. We'd purposefully bought more bread than necessary and spent a happy half-hour throwing bits of it to the ducks. Then we sat down on a bench and talked for a while, about nothing much in particular.

I was looking at her new necklace and thinking how much it suited her when she happened to mention how much she loved flowers, and without thinking I said, "You remind me of a flower," and immediately wished I hadn't. How pathetic did I want her to think I was? But she was looking at me with that half-smile and I had to continue now. I cleared my throat. "Well, er, I mean, you remind me of, er, a flower." _Just great, Callum. Keep going, why don't you?_

"You just said that," she pointed out.

"I know," I said defensively.

"Which flower?"

"Well, er, you know those ones that bloom in winter... snowdrops, that's what they're called. Just when the winter's at its darkest and coldest and you think that you're never going to see the spring again, suddenly these beautiful flowers are everywhere, like gleams of moonshine... And they look so fragile, yet they're the only ones that are tough enough to survive the cold. You're like a snowdrop." I was speaking without thinking again, saying exactly what was in my mind, and when I looked at her I was horrified to see that there were tears in her eyes. "What? What is it? What's wrong?" I panicked, racking my brains for what to do now. Should I put my arm round her? Hug her?

"Nothing," she said, clearly struggling to hold back the tears. "It's just... that's what my father used to call me. Snowdrop. It's always been my nickname because my birthday is in the winter and he said I came out with the snowdrops... That's why this necklace means so much to me. It reminds me of that." A single tear dropped onto her cheek and shone there like a diamond.

"Oh." I wanted to say something comforting, but my brain had gone completely blank. Instead I reached out and gently wiped away the teardrop with my thumb. She looked up at me gratefully and I smiled at her, realising all over again how much she meant to me.

"Anyway," she said before I could say any of the thoughts in my head (perhaps this was fortunate), "come on, I'm taking you round the city. We're going _exploring_."

The afternoon was gone before I knew it. I could barely drag my attention away from her to look at all the places she took me to, but at the same time I couldn't bring myself to say anything about how I felt. I wanted to keep things the way there were right now – the teasing, slightly flirtatious companionship that felt so right. If I spoke now, I might spoil things. So I kept my mouth shut and concentrated on how warm and trusting her hand felt in mine and how beautiful she looked when she was excited and happy.

Eventually we realised that it was getting late and we should head back to the palace. The market had been packed and gone by the time we wandered back through the square, with only a couple of coloured beads and scraps of paper to indicate that it had been there at all. We were walking slowly, content with the silence, and I realised that I had never felt so happy – no, not even before Elena had disappeared. For the first time, I made peace with myself. I had been still a child then; still had had so much to learn. Perhaps if circumstances had been different, everything would have worked out, but things changed and now Helen was right for me. I ignored every doubt that nagged at me – what had happened to Elena, what could ever happen with me and Helen – because today was too special to ruin with worry.

Far too soon, we'd walked across the fields and had arrived at the palace. The summer evening was scented with honeysuckle as we crossed the courtyard and above us stars had yet to appear in the clear sky. I was telling Helen how she must never tie her hair up again and she was protesting that she didn't have to obey me.

"On the contrary, my lady," I grinned, putting a possessive arm round her. "I can decide what you look like... I am your husband, after all."

She rolled her eyes and laughed, and I made up my mind that right now was the perfect moment to kiss her, to pull her close to me and feel her in my arms; I could see in her eyes that she knew it too, and our lips were nearly touching –

"_Callum_."

My mother was standing in the doorway, light streaming out from behind her onto the cobbles. Her arms were folded and her expression was anything but pleased. Helen stepped away from me hastily, her smile vanishing.

"Explain," said my mother icily, "_please_ explain why you have caused the entire palace so much grief."  
"What do you mean?" I stammered, in a very un-princely way.

"Callum, you are not a child! You are an adult and must take responsibility for your actions. We've spent the entire day searching for the two of you. No warning, no note – what did you think we'd do? Don't you think we remembered Elena? _Where have you been?_"

"We went to the marketplace," I spoke up before Helen could say anything, wanting to protect her. "I'm sorry. I didn't think."

My mother was silent, looking me up and down. I was shamefully conscious of the ragged clothes I was wearing. "You are too old for me to punish," she said at last, and I would have done anything to erase the sadness from her face, "but please remember that you are a prince. You cannot simply leave when you feel like it, and you cannot afford to take a day off. If you do this again, your father will not allow you freedom to leave the castle." I bowed my head, anger and guilt washing through me in equal quantities.

"Come, we must tell your father that you are safe." She led us through the corridors in silence; I fancied that even the guards that opened the doors for us looked at me with a pitying expression. When we reached the throne room, my father looked up with a hopeful expression. His eyes widened as he saw the two of us, in our old clothes and barefoot, no less.

"They were at the market," said my mother. The king sighed and rubbed his forehead, suddenly looking old.

"I'm not even going to lecture you this time. The future king must not be a coward. Do not run away from your responsibilities again." I wanted to argue, to explain that I was not running away, that it had been a harmless excursion, but he went on. "This letter came today." He held out his hands and I saw that he was holding a scroll in each one. "This one is for you, Helen," he said, his voice softening a little. "You may want to read it in private. I have not looked at it."

Face pale, she reached out and took it. I stared at her, trying to communicate with my eyes that everything was going to be fine, but she wouldn't meet my gaze. "Thank you, your majesties," she said quietly, and bowing to them, left the room.

"What is it? What does it say?"

My parents looked at me and to my amazement I saw that they were smiling. "It's good news, as far as it goes, son," said my father gruffly, and I breathed a sigh of relief. "Mind you," he went on warningly, "Helen might not think so."


	23. Chapter 23

HELEN

It was written in my mother's handwriting; she had been trained to be a schoolteacher before she met my father. Just looking at the precisely written characters brought to mind the way she would sit at the table, forehead creased in concentration as she dipped the quill in ink and carefully wrote, while my father paced backwards and forwards and dictated to her. Then he'd come and look over her shoulder, and she would laugh and cover the paper with her hand; he'd accuse her of writing things other than what he'd told her, and she would tell him that he was perfectly right, and then he would kiss her and she'd push him off saying that he was a distraction...

The picture was so vivid that a lump came to my throat. I concentrated on the words.

_Our darling Snowdrop,_

_There is no easy way to tell you this, and so we will simply tell the story. _

_When Bobby was three years old, and barely talking yet, he caught a cold, and it became so severe that his life was in danger. When he finally recovered, the wise woman of the village who was looking after him told us that he had been greatly weakened by the disease and that we should move somewhere with purer air, for living in the damp valley where we were at the time was dangerous for his health. And so we packed up our belongings on our little cart and set off to the village where we live now. _

_We travelled for a week in the dead of winter. We were afraid to stop in case Bobby caught cold again, but we couldn't go quicker on the road, it was so thick with ice. More of a dirt track, it was, so few people used it. Anyway, we saw something lying in the ditch, and it looked like a person. Your mother kept Bobby distracted while I investigated. What I saw made my heart almost stop, I tell you. It was a girl lying there, colder than the snow around her. She was all dressed in thin rags, and inch-deep in dirt and blood. Her face was so white I thought we were too late, but she was alive – just. So we took her onto the cart and hurried onwards, and fortune favoured us for within hours we reached the village. We put you straight to bed – you must have realised it was you by now, my dear – and tried to clean you up, but it was a hard job. Luckily there was a skilled physician, Howels, you know him of course, and he was able to help us look after your wounds. You had a huge gash down the back of one leg, and your poor feet were torn to pieces. You were covered in bruises, too, and burning with a high fever so that you tossed and turned all day and night and called out for people that weren't there. We looked after you for two weeks in that state, and every moment we worried that you wouldn't survive, but you were stronger than you looked. You pulled through and one day we woke up to find you looking at us with eyes full of confusion but awake. _

_It became clear very quickly that you had no memory of who you were or where you came from. You didn't know anything and besides you could not stay awake for longer than a few moments at a time as you recovered from your ordeal. We had to decide what to do with you. We'd been searching desperately for any sign of your family, but no one came forward, no one claimed you. _

_Were we wrong to do what we did? At the time I did not think so, but now I wonder if we were hiding the truth from ourselves. We loved you, you see – we wanted to take care of you and to make you happy. And so we hid the truth from you, too. We called you Helen because that was the name you seemed to respond to the most when you were feverish, but to me you were always Snowdrop, because we found you there in the winter-cold wood and you were like a promise of spring happiness; a flower that looks like it'd vanish if you blew at it, but survives the ice and snow like nothing else. So we told you that you were our daughter, and that you had had an accident, and everyone accepted our story. And we watched you grow and be happy, and we loved you all the more. _

_And now this letter from the King of Nabol, telling us that his son believes you are a Princess, and to ask us if we know anything. Well, my darling, this is all we know. When we found you, you did not have anything with you but your rags. If you are a Princess, we will not be surprised, because we have always known you were special, but we have no proof of that fact._

_Forgive us for not telling you sooner. And please know that whatever the outcome of this affair, whatever you decide to do, there will always be a place for you in our home and in our hearts. We love you more than we can say. _

It was not signed, but that was not necessary.

I just stood there, in my bedroom, holding this letter that was turning my entire world upside down, and began to shake. I couldn't move from my position. I just kept re-reading the letter, and every word hurt. My breathing was fast and shallow, and every beat of my heart seemed to say _lie, lie, lie, lie._ Everything was a lie. I was a lie.

I wanted to cry – to howl like a wounded animal, but all I could do was stand still until my muscles ached from stiffness. I was not Helen. I was not anybody. Who was I? I didn't know any more. Everything I had been told was made up. I had not grown up loving animals. I had not gone to school and finished at sixteen. I had not always told my parents I wanted to be a farmer 'so I can help daddy'. Every time they had told me anything about myself they had been lying. Had it hurt them? Or had it just become habit? Nothing was real any more. What if everything about me and my character was just a result of their lies?

I could think no longer. I had reached breaking point. As if I was a puppet whose strings had been cut, I folded onto the floor, and waited for the pain to subside.

Some time later, I realised that it was dark, and that I was cold despite the summer night. Taking a deep breath, I got up slowly and mechanically got ready for bed, brushing my hair and getting into my nightclothes without really registering my movements. Why had no one come to me? Where was Annie? I hadn't seen her since yesterday. Was today her monthly day off? I could not remember, but I felt hurt all the same. Had no one thought to comfort me? Where was Callum?

_I miss home, but there is no home to miss, _was my next thought and now as the kind darkness enveloped me the tears finally came. I cried myself to sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

HELEN

I woke up slowly, as you do from a deep dreamless slumber. At first I was aware of nothing but a feeling of utter comfort, so much so that I didn't want to open my eyes. I felt so warm and safe that my sleepy brain was momentarily confused as to whether I was at home. Then I remembered with a pang that I couldn't call it home, because it belonged to a family that was not my own. I frowned and decided to try and go back to sleep where maybe I could forget it again. I rolled over – at least, I tried to roll over, and found I couldn't. Something was preventing me. Something across my waist that held me in place... something behind me...

My eyes snapped open. There was someone in my bed.

I twisted round as far as I possibly could, and there was Callum, fast asleep, _in my bed_. His long eyelashes were resting on his cheeks, and he looked as innocent and peaceful as a child; he had tucked his head into my neck, and he was breathing into my hair. His brown arms encircled me and held me tightly, even in his sleep.

"Callum," I whispered, too shocked to make a sound any louder than that. "_Callum_."

"Mmmm," he mumbled, stirring. His eyes briefly opened, and a smile lit up his face before he closed them again. "Good morning, beautiful." He pulled me even closer against him.

"_CALLUM!" _I yelled, and he jumped, let go of me, and sat up. I watched, arms folded, as he processed the situation.

"Oh," he said.

"Would you mind telling me what you're doing in my bed?" I said in my best imitation of his mother's Ice Queen voice.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to pull himself together, but apparently falling short of the mark. "I fell asleep," he mumbled confusedly.

"_In my bed?"_

"Keep it down!" he groaned, and slumped back against the pillows. "I'm still half asleep."

"I demand an explanation, Callum!"

He was clearly trying to think of one but coming up blank. "Well... I... What happened is..." That was when it hit me – a reason for his behaviour which made me so angry that I had to climb out of bed to confront him with it.

"Oh, I see how this is!" I shouted. "So the moment you discover that there's a chance I might actually be the Princess, suddenly you're all over me? Before, when you thought I might be just a _farm girl_, I was what, just a bit of fun? And now you're ready to declare your love for me!" It all made sense. Why he hadn't said anything before, why his behaviour had been so erratic. He didn't care about _me_ at all; he only cared about finding his princess. Well, that was fair enough. Who was I to argue?

I would have gone on shouting, but a knock on my door froze both of us instantly, and we stared wide-eyed at each other as the implications of his being discovered in my bed hit us.

"_Hide_," I hissed, and he slid over the side of the bed and ducked.

"Come in," I called with trepidation. It was Lydia who opened the door.

"Helen? Are you all right?" She looked worried.

"Oh, I'm fine," I said unconvincingly, trying to surreptitiously straighten the sheets.

"I was passing and I heard you shouting..."

"Oh, that," I gabbled. "Well, I just, er..." Try as I might, a reasonable explanation wouldn't come to mind. Lydia took a step closer and I gulped, hoping that she wouldn't be able to see Callum crouched behind the bed.

"Listen, Helen, I heard about... the letter." She'd put it into neutral terms but I still winced. "I can guess that you'd be feeling pretty sad and angry." Perfect, she'd given me an excuse.

"Yes. I just couldn't hold my feelings in any more. I feel, well, betrayed," I said, allowing some of the anger to creep into my voice and hoping that Callum was paying attention.

"Of course you do," soothed the princess. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not really," I admitted. "I'd like some time to myself right now. But I'll come and find you later."

"All right." She gave me a hug, which helped a little. "See you soon."

The moment she was gone, Callum stood up. He was wearing those cut-off trousers as nightclothes again, and nothing else. I tried not to be put off by this. "I can't believe you," I said in a furious whisper, afraid that Lydia was still within earshot. "I trusted you. I thought you actually cared about _me_, as a person."

"I do!" he said heatedly. "Listen, you have to understand, I _do_ care!"

"Oh, and that's why you left me completely alone last night when my whole world was falling apart? Thank you so much for your concern!"

"I did come to see you! I just happened to fall asleep this time!"

"_THIS TIME?"_

"Helen?" Lydia's voice outside my door froze us again. We held our breaths.

"Yes?" I answered meekly.

"Would you like me to send a servant up with some tea?"

"That would be lovely, Lydia, thank you."

"No problem." Her footsteps died away and we breathed again.

"This time?" I repeated. "You mean you've done this before?"

"Yes. Don't be angry, please. It's just that when you had nightmares, I heard you screaming, so I came in to try and comfort you, and when I did you fell asleep more peacefully."

I tried to take this in. Then... I _hadn't_ been dreaming. He really had been holding me. I could feel my anger dissipating, however hard I tried to hold on to it. "Really?"

He took a step closer. "Really!" It was very hard to doubt the feelings evident in his eyes. "I watched you sleep, and you were so beautiful, Helen."

I had to get away from him, because he was messing up my concentration. I went and sat on the opposite side of the bed. "This... is a lot to deal with, you know."

"Sorry," he said fervently. "I don't want to ruin anything, Helen."

"Stop saying my name."

"Why?"

"Because it's not even my real name. I don't even _know_ what my real name is."

He came to sit beside me. "Do you think you are Elena?"

I turned on him. "I don't _know_, Callum! I've been fighting for a lost cause, and now I have no idea about anything. How should I know who I am? For all I know I appeared out of nowhere like a... like a..."

"Snowdrop?" he suggested gently and then bit his lip. "Sorry. I didn't mean to remind you."

I shook my head. "It's all right. I just..." The problem was, it was hard to say anything when he was looking at me like that again.

The door opened again and we got to our feet hastily. Annie stood in the doorway with a tray, on which lay a small pink teapot, a cup and saucer, some sugar and milk and two biscuits. I opened my mouth to tell her that Callum was simply borrowing a book from me – although the likelihood of her believing such a story was debatable – but she didn't show any surprise at his presence.

"Good morning, your highness. Helen, your tea."

"Thank you," I managed, and took the tray with slightly unsteady hands.

"Did his highness sleep well?" she said politely, and Callum grinned at her.

"I certainly did, Annie, thank you."

"Wait a moment," I interrupted, suddenly putting two and two together and making five. "You knew! Annie, you knew that he was here and you never told me!"

"Whyever would you say that?" said Annie, but I knew from the twinkle in her eye that I was right.

"I can't believe it! Am I the only person around here who finds out everything last?"

"Don't be ridiculous," began Callum, but it was his turn to be interrupted now.

"That may be, but this discussion can wait for later. When you have breakfasted, their majesties require your presence in the throne room. You too, Helen."

And with that, Annie curtseyed and left.

"It's about my parentage, isn't it," I sighed. "Well, I suppose I have to face it at some point..."

I looked to Callum for sympathy, but he was staring at me and apparently had not heard a word I'd said.

"Callum?"  
He started and a faint blush coloured his cheeks. "Er – sorry. Yes. Look, you should probably get dressed."

This made me acutely conscious of the fact that I was still wearing my nightgown. "Oh, get out!" I said, caught between disapproval and amusement, and shooed him out of the room.

**Just some light humour and pink sparkly fluff to soften the blows in the next few chapters ;) I admit I'm just writing to get people's reactions at this point, it's great! Though I am ashamed to admit, SoR, that I don't know who you are talking about :( educate me! (But still love me?) :P  
p.s. I think this may be my favourite chapter of all time. Heehee. **


	25. Chapter 25

**I looove getting four reviews when I wake up, so here is your update. Thanks for the support! This story is turning out to be waaay longer than it was meant to be, but never mind!**

CALLUM

We stood in front of my parents later that morning. Helen's eyes were still shadowed with the pain she clearly felt at the loss of her family, but she looked as if she'd come to terms with it a little more.

My father was the first to speak. "How are you, Helen?" I was surprised at the kindness in his voice – not because it was unusual, but because I hadn't realised that my parents did genuinely care about this girl. Just as I did.

"I am well, thank you, your majesty," she answered. "Though the news was a shock to me."

"I understand, and I am sorry to bring this up now, but we must decide what to do next. The summer will be over soon, and in winter it would have been Elena's twentieth birthday, and the day on which she would have married Callum. If you are indeed she, then we must attempt to find proof of it before then. And we must notify her parents now. They would be angry with us if we did not, and rightly."

Helen bowed her head in agreement and I wondered what she was really thinking. She remained silent as my father called in a scribe and dictated a letter to the Tanezian King and Queen. Since it was little more than two days' hard riding to their palace, they would be expected within the week. They would almost certainly come. There was no way they would let any chance pass that might lead them to their missing daughter.

I did not see her for the rest of the day; I suspected that she was still trying to come to terms with the news, and preparing herself for the ordeal of meeting Elena's parents for the first time. I missed her. I wanted to talk to her about how she was feeling, and how my day had gone, and share all the little things we'd been sharing since she'd arrived at the palace. Somehow I felt that everything I had experienced hadn't happened unless I told her about it. But instinctively, I avoided her, feeling that when she did meet the Tanezian royal couple it would be a resolve of all the questions. Surely they would recognise their own daughter.

I felt restless once I had come to this conclusion, wanting to be with her while also knowing that she needed to be alone. I felt that we hadn't finished our conversation this morning. I liked to think that I had convinced her of my good intentions, but I had to admit that my situation hadn't looked great. In order to get the nervousness out of my system, I took my favourite horse, Lightning, out for a good gallop; and then as an antidote to the rush of adrenaline that gave me, went to my father and spent three hours helping him sort paperwork and settle various small disputes between his subjects. By the time I'd finished, I was sore and exhausted, and it was all I could do to stumble upstairs and along the corridors to my rooms. I wondered if Helen was in bed. I wanted to go to her, almost went and knocked on her door, but decided against disturbing her. Perhaps… particularly considering the circumstances of our last meeting… I should let her come to me, instead of going to her room at night.

To my astonishment, my sitting room was occupied. Lydia was curled up on the sofa, reading for the millionth time one of her favourite books.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, a little ungraciously. My relationship with her was good as far as it went, but I'd never been amazing at talking to her, particularly since my rift with Marcus. She was so young, and had such different interests to me, other than books. And her friends tended to be giggly young ladies from noble families who never failed to eye me up in case they could bag themselves a prince.

"Sorry," she said, putting the book down but, I noticed, not standing up to go. "Come and sit. I want to talk."

"Oh," I said with a measure of uncertainty. "What about?"

"Sit!" she said, and she sounded so like our mother that I obeyed without thinking. Once I was settled into a chair, she cleared her throat.

"Do you think Helen is the Princess?" she blurted out. I stared at her, a little taken aback by her bluntness.

"Well…" I had thought I knew the answer to that. In fact, I had been going to say yes to Lydia's question. So why was I hesitating? "I… I don't know," I confessed.

"Why?" Her big dark eyes were troubled.

"Well, I…" She was looking at me expectantly, and I wondered if I could trust her. She was only fifteen, after all. What did she understand of such matters?

"You can tell me," she said softly, and for some reason I believed her. All of my frustrating emotions burst from me at once.

"I don't know how to feel!" I exclaimed. "I loved Elena. Love. Loved. I don't know! She was everything to me. She was the one I was going to marry. I made my mind up to that when we were very small – when she climbed that stupid tree and wouldn't come down. I knew when I saw her up there that she would be my wife. She was stubborn and spoiled and vain and so young, but she was my Elena and I loved her. And then she disappeared, and it was the worst pain I had ever felt. I didn't know it was possible to experience that much hurt and still live through it, but I did. And now… And now…"

"Helen," said Lydia, still softly.

"Yes, Helen! She's different. She's lived a harder life, and she's learned lessons that Elena was never capable of at sixteen. She's compassionate, and sweet, and lovely, and she is the only person apart from you who has ever dared to tell me what she thinks about me… But is she Elena? I don't know. Sometimes I am convinced of it. The way she screws up her nose and laughs, and the way she dances when she thinks no one is looking, and just that excitement about life – they are all Elena. But there is always that horrible doubt lurking in the back of my mind. _What if she is not?_ I'm torn in two, Lydia. If she is Elena, well and good… but she has forgotten everything that made her mine, and perhaps she will never care for me as she once did. And if she is not? Then I have betrayed Elena's memory, and my love for her – wait, why are you crying?"

I had been pouring out my heart and soul, but my bewildered interruption caused Lydia to start and flush, evidently hoping that I hadn't noticed. "I'm not," she said valiantly, sniffing.

"Yes you are. What's wrong?" My own troubles, heavy as they were, were almost forgotten as I went over to sit by her. "Tell your nice brother Callum."

She sniffled again. "It's just that…" she said in a rush. "I want you to be happy, and Helen too, and I wish that you could just be together, but I loved Elena too and she was like a sister to me, and I feel like a traitor being Helen's friend because she's taking her place, and I miss Marcus a lot, and my favourite cat has gone missing."

I almost laughed at the unexpected final addition, but managed to restrain myself. This was new to me, this sisterly confidence in me – but I remembered Helen crying about her family, and put my arm round Lydia comfortingly. "It will be all right," I murmured while she cried into my shoulder. "It will be all right somehow, I promise."

By the evening of the following day, my patience had completely run out. I'd never had much of it to begin with; I'd always preferred to jump first and think afterwards and hang the consequences, though my father was trying to instil thoughtfulness into me. But I'd waited long enough now. I _had_ to talk to her. She hadn't even appeared at lunch or dinner, and she'd elected to have breakfast in her rooms so I hadn't seen her all day. Lydia and I had been playing a nervous game of cards in her rooms, to which she'd invited me after dinner, with the idea of trying to calm me down; but I kept forgetting myself and slamming the cards down irritably, startling her each time.

"Ace of spades," she said timidly. I looked down at the cards I held in my hand. But I couldn't even see them. Before my eyes appeared only Helen, Helen feeding breadcrumbs to the ducks in the lake, Helen licking her fingers after that pastry and grinning up at me, Helen's face so close to mine that I could count every individual freckle on her pale skin and count every individual lash standing out from her green eyes… _Why didn't I kiss her when I had the chance?_

Abruptly, making Lydia jump again, I threw down all my cards and jumped to my feet.

"Callum?"

"I'll see you later," I said distractedly, and left her rooms at a run.

I knew where Helen would be. We'd spent many happy hours in my private garden, lounging on the hanging chair, lying on the grass, telling stories; but when she wanted to be alone, she always went to the rose garden. It only took me a few minutes to run there at top speed, and then I halted at the entrance, suddenly besieged by uncertainty. Should I? Or not?

Then I remembered the way she'd cried in her sleep, the night after she'd read the letter, and hardened my resolve. I passed through the arch, heavy with climbing roses, and peered into the garden. Among a mass of crimson roses, she was sitting on a stone bench, shoulders drooping, staring into nothingness. Tears rolled slowly down her face, but she seemed unaware of them.

"Helen," I said softly. I was unprepared for her reaction.

"Callum!" She stood, stared at me for a second, and then flung herself at me. Her small frame was shaking with sobs. "I can't stand this any more!"

I was distracted by the fall of her soft hair on my shoulder for a moment, and the feel of her body against mine, but pulled myself together in time to ask quietly: "Can't stand what? Come and sit down."

She obeyed me passively, still crying. "This – this – uncertainty!" she sobbed. "I don't know who I am anymore! I've tried and tried to remember – if I only knew, I could be happy – I don't care who I am, Callum!" She turned a tear-streaked face to mine. "I wouldn't care if I was the lowest servant in the land – if I was nothing – as long as I remembered where I came from!"

I felt a terrible pang of guilt as I stroked her hair. This was all my fault. I had caused this. If she had never met me, she would still be living happily in the village, never dreaming that her life was a lie. "It doesn't matter," I tried to say. "You're still you."

But she wouldn't listen. "I want to go home," she hiccoughed.

The words burned through me with a painful clarity. She wanted to leave me. Of course she didn't care. I almost gave in to my possessiveness, told her that she could never leave me, that she was mine and belonged to me alone and always would. But it was the wrong choice to make: I could see that now. She was just a flower, fragile despite herself; a flower could not survive when it was pulled up by the roots. "Then go home," I whispered, finding the words very hard to say. "Just go."

She stilled in my arms and then looked up at me again, a new expression dawning in her eyes that I couldn't quite read. "No," she murmured.

"No?" It was almost like flying, this feeling that maybe – just maybe –

"I can't leave you," she said simply, and those four words made me feel happier than I ever remembered feeling throughout my life.

The next hour passed in a daze. I don't know what we said to each other. Nothing much; just the occasional small comment on something we'd done that day or what someone had said to us. We made no declarations to each other, no promises. But she put her head on my shoulder and her small hand into mine, and I would have done anything for her at that moment, anything at all to keep her by my side.

Eventually, though, it began to grow darker, and though it was summer I felt her shiver a little. "We should go inside," she said, turning those eyes – still green in the mysterious half-light of evening – on me.

"I suppose so," I said, still half in a trance.

"Come on." She was herself again, teasing, laughing at my lassitude. "Get up, you lazy lump."

"All right, all right." I got up and we walked through the silent darkening gardens, content to be silent in each other's company. When we reached one of the doors that led inside, I bowed and let her go ahead of me in a most gentlemanly manner; she giggled, swept me a curtsey, and sailed through the doorway with her nose in the air. It was things like this that made me fall for her – how she could turn from serious to silly in an instant, how she never reacted the way I thought she would. I liked how everything was turned upside down when I was with her.

As she stalked down the corridor in front of me, dignity personified, I caught up with her and poked her in the side. She squealed and leapt away, dignity forgotten. "That tickles!" She poked me back and I also jumped in a rather un-princely way.

"Hey!" I complained. "You did it harder." I poked her again.

"Stop it! Keep your hands to yourself, _your highness – _"

"Try and stop me!" I grinned, trying to grab her round the waist. She danced out of reach and laughed up at me. I laughed too, caught up in how beautiful she was when she was happy. I was so busy staring at her that when we reached my parents' rooms, where we had been unconsciously heading as we often did to say goodnight, I didn't see what it was that made the smile slide off her face; all I knew was that she turned whiter than paper, staring at something inside the room.

"Helen?" I asked, instantly worried. What could have made her look like that?

She just pointed towards my parents. I turned to look… and froze.


	26. Chapter 26

**Another four reviews... I think that deserves another chapter, don't you? It's the moment you've all been waiting for... **

CALLUM

My parents had risen to greet us, identical masks of wide-eyed concern. And they were not alone. Standing beside them, in a faded but pretty dress, sweeping her dark hair out of her face so that she could look at me, was…

My first thought was to remember that I was a prince, and a prince never let his guard down. I had had to sit through boring political meetings and ridiculously contrived disputes; I had had to dance with unattractive, annoying girls and make small talk with their overdressed mothers, but I had never shown my emotions on my face. Now, if ever, was time to make use of that skill. I kept my face perfectly neutral. But when I spoke I couldn't quite keep my voice from going flat.

"Elena."

"Callum? Is that really you?" She stepped forward with the light of hope in her eyes. I hoped myself that I wasn't looking _too_ neutral. I was looking at the love of my life, after all.

"It's me," I said, glad to hear that this time my voice was steadier. She looked like Helen – and yet she did not. She was not suntanned like Helen; her hair was shorter and darker, without the red glints in it, and she was rounder, softer, more refined. I could see that now. Or perhaps it was just that I no longer saw Helen as Elena. I just saw her as herself.

Helen! I spun round, the realisation hitting me with the force of a slap in the face. What was Helen thinking?

But she was gone.

HELEN

I ran as soon as he said her name.

It wasn't as if I'd known who she was the second I laid eyes on her. She had that thing I'd been looking for all this time… that indefinable sense of _belonging_, of being comfortable with her surroundings. Yes, I'd known instantly that the real Lost Princess had returned. But it had taken Callum's voice to bring me back to myself and realise that I had no place in that moment, in the joy of reunion.

For of course it would be joy. What else could it be? He had spent four years looking for this girl. Four years of loneliness, of heartache, of desperation. He had been betrothed to her. He had known her nearly all his life. Of course he still loved her.

_He didn't run to her._

The voice in my head was insistent, but I told it to shut up. I had no right to think about or judge the prince's actions. He was shocked, that was why he hadn't seemed happy. Just sheer surprise.

I hadn't gone to Elena's rooms. They had never really belonged to me, just as everything in the last few weeks had never really belonged to me. Elena should have them back. I just wished I hadn't stolen other parts of her life, too.

But no, that was stupid. Everything would go back to how it was meant to be now. I hadn't made much of a difference. I curled up on the hard, narrow bed in the attic room I used to share with Annie. It was empty of blankets and possessions; she'd been sleeping with me, of course. But right now it felt like the only place I could be myself.

Why wasn't I crying? I wondered idly as I lay there, staring at the wooden panels of the thin partition wall. I should be crying. I had cried like a baby about my parents not being my real parents, only hours ago. But this wasn't affecting me like that had. I just felt numb. Dazed. Had someone hit me on the head when I wasn't looking? I checked, but there were no bruises.

Wait, I was going mad. Of course no one had hit me on the head. Unless the Princess had worked out who I was and decided to get me in case I was a threat to Callum. I gave a feeble giggle.

"Come on, Helen," I said aloud. The sound of my voice was unnerving in the empty space, but also heartening. "Pull yourself together. You _will_ deal with this." I got up and lit the lantern that hung from the wall with the flint that always rested on the windowsill. It cast odd shadows, but it took more than that to scare me.

There wasn't a mirror in the room, because as maids we were supposed to not care about our appearance as long as we looked neat and presentable; but it was dark outside, and I could see my reflection in the small window when I looked out of it. I looked funny. My face was still white, and my eyes were like dark holes in my face. But I was still me. _Me_. I had worried about losing myself earlier, but I had been wrong. This was who I really was, this plain, strong, farm girl. I wasn't a princess. I had learned that now.

I wondered if my spare uniform was still tucked under the bed, the way I'd left it the last day I'd slept in this room. It might have been overlooked. I crossed the room and felt under the bed for the wooden box that held clothes and pulled it out. Sure enough, there was the simple dark blue dress and white pinafore over the top, with the hair band made of the same material of the dress. I stared at it for a moment. Then I began to undress, as quickly as I possibly could. I took off Lydia's beautiful white dress and flung it onto the bed; it was too good for me. When I was down to my underwear – the sensible, coarse underwear that my adoptive mother had woven for me – I hesitated, my hand going to my throat. I was still wearing Callum's necklace. I never took it off, even when I slept. But it didn't really belong to me. Should I give it back? But I shrank from the idea of facing him. No, I should throw it away so that it could never remind me of the day I'd spent with him, that wonderful, impossible, ridiculous day. I went back to the window, shoved it open with a grating sound, and held the necklace out into midair. _Just drop it._

The snowflake spun around and glinted in the light of the lantern. It was so delicate, so beautiful. I remembered the warmth of Callum's hands as he fastened it round my neck, and the serious way he'd looked at me.

Quickly, before I could change my mind, I dropped the necklace into the box where my uniform had been and kicked it back under the bed. When it was out of sight, I breathed a sigh of relief. I dressed and bound my hair back tightly with the piece of blue material, and looked into the window once more. Now there was nothing left of Helen, maybe-Princess. Now I was just me again.

Frantic footsteps up the stairs made me stiffen. What if Ca – the prince was looking for me? I wasn't sure whether to hope that he was or not. I was alone up here; the other maids were probably down in the kitchen, relaxing after their day of hard work or preparing to go out into town if they had permission.

The door burst open and Annie sprinted in, worry written across her face. When she saw me, she skidded to a stop. "There you are! Thank goodness you're safe," and then she was hugging me. I expected to feel the onset of tears now, but they didn't come. I felt cold and hard, as if I was made of ice. No, not ice; ice melted. I was made of glass.

"I'm fine," I told her.

She looked me up and down, taking in my uniform. "You don't look fine."

"Well, I am. How did you know where to find me?"

"I know you, and I know that you'd go somewhere the prince would never dream of looking for you."

"He's searching for me?"

Annie's gaze dropped; she couldn't look me in the eye. "Not exactly. He's… busy."

"Good." He shouldn't try and find me. I was no longer a part of his life.

"I was sent by the King."

I looked up, startled. "What?"

"He wants to speak to you. Alone."

I paced the floor for a couple of moments before I answered. "All right."

"Helen, what are you going to do?" Her freckled face was anxious. I felt a wave of affection for her – this friend that had stood by me through everything.

"I haven't decided yet."

"Is she really the Princess?"

"…Yes. She is."

Perhaps the tone of my voice was as glassy as I felt, because she didn't ask any more questions. "The King is in the green library."

"I'll go there now. Can you do me a favour?"

"I'll do anything," she vowed, and I almost smiled.

"Can you go and get anything of mine or yours from the Princess Elena's rooms before she goes into them? And get bedding for this room?"

"All right."

"Thank you, Annie." I walked out of the room and began the long walk down the creaky attic stairs to meet my future.


	27. Chapter 27

HELEN

King James looked at me, and I looked back.

I knew that I had always been a problem for him to resolve. I was the question mark hanging over his head, the enigma constantly bothering him. And now it was even worse.

"Helen," he began, and then sighed. It was the first time either of us had spoken. He looked less kingly, sitting in a comfortable armchair with a worried crease in his forehead. He also looked a lot older than he had before; but it made him seem more approachable. For almost the first time, I saw him as a father figure rather than a monarch. "Helen, I care very much about my son."

It was not what I'd expected him to say, and I was thrown for a moment. "I know," I muttered.

"I care about him very much, and I do not want him unhappy or hurt," he continued heavily. "And unfortunately, that may be unavoidable with you in the picture."

"What do you mean?" I said quickly.

His gaze was direct. "Tell me, does my son care for you or does he not?"

I felt more uncomfortable than I ever had in my life. It was a question I barely knew the answer to myself, let alone to give to anyone else. But I knew how much hung on my next words, and so I bent the truth.

"I do not think so."

He heard the lie in my voice, and raised an eyebrow. I rushed on. "I mean, perhaps a little, but not enough to disrupt him seriously."

The king did not answer for a while and I wondered what he was thinking. "And you?" he asked eventually.

"I what?"

"Do you care for him?"

I wanted to shout that my feelings were none of his business, but to be honest, at this point they probably were. _I am made of glass_. "No," I said.

There must have been the ring of truth in my voice because he did not press the issue. Instead he leaned back and considered me. "What should I do with you, Helen?"

This was it. Time for the decision. Time for me to finally go home again, like I'd been wanting to for so long. Time to forget all about the prince and his stupid necklace. Time to move on with my life.

"Let me stay," I begged.

"Stay?" I couldn't tell whether he was surprised or not. His poker face was as good as his son's.

"As a maid. Like before. I'll work hard, I promise. And I won't make any trouble. I need the money. And I like working here." What was I, crazy? But I couldn't seem to stop myself. There was a long silence.

"I won't go near the prince," I added hastily, wondering if that was the problem. "I won't even speak to him again. Just let me stay."

"All right, Helen," said the king at last. "You may stay as a maid if that is what you wish."

"Thank you, your majesty!"

He did not answer, just nodded. But as I closed the door behind me, I caught a glimpse of him rubbing his forehead the way Ca – the prince did when he was tired or stressed.

"Helen." I nearly jumped out of my skin at the softly spoken word.

"Lydia?" She was standing there in the corridor.

"Shh!" she whispered quickly, grabbing my arm and leading me away from the library. "I only have a couple of minutes; I'm supposed to be with my mother, and Callum and…"

"Elena," I finished for her. She nodded. Was she holding back tears?

"I just wanted to see that you were all right. And say that… I'm sorry. I really am."

"Oh, Lydia…"

"I really thought you were the princess. And I know Callum did too."

"Please don't mention him," I pleaded. "I understand what you're saying, but it's over. Ca – the prince has found his girl. I'm just a maid."

"You're staying?"

I nodded. "But behind the scenes. It's probably best if you don't speak to me any more… for everyone concerned."

"All right." Her chin was wobbling. Poor little Lydia, only wanting the best for everybody. She had yet to learn that sometimes the best just isn't possible. "Well… good luck, Helen."

"Bye, Lydia."

CALLUM

"I… I don't understand," I said helplessly. I knew I should be all capable and rational, but my thoughts were completely adrift, and had been since I'd realised Helen had disappeared. "Where have you been?"

We – my mother, Elena, and I – were in my parents' suite of rooms, in their private sitting room. It was warm and cosy, with a fireplace and comfortable chairs, but right now I felt anything but relaxed. Elena was sitting opposite me, in a dress my mother had loaned her (the déjà-vu was almost too much to handle), her long hair braided back. She was fiddling with the end of the plait in a rather annoying way.

"I told you. On my birthday, after you took me out to the balcony, instead of my father, a huge man showed up and grabbed me. I was so terrified that I fainted, but I don't remember anything after that. All I knew was that I woke up, what seemed like the next morning, and I was in a small room with a woman standing over me. She told me that she was a witch, and that she had rescued me from some horrible danger or other, but she'd cast a spell on my memory so that I didn't have to remember the ordeal. I told her who I was and where I came from, but she wouldn't take me back to Tanezia. She told me that she'd wanted a daughter all her life and that she would love me as her own child if I stayed. I didn't want to stay. But I didn't know what else to do. I knew that she would be angry if I left, and could cast another spell on me, so whether she admitted it or not, I was her prisoner.

"She kept me there all this time. She did love me, in her own way, I think. And in some ways I grew to love her, too. But all the same, I never stopped trying to escape. I wanted to get back to where you were. I missed all my family. When the witch had rescued me, she also took some of my belongings which apparently the kidnappers had taken." Elena had been carrying a large shoulder bag, which she now opened. First she took out a pile of folded material. In a hushed silence, she held it up and shook it out. I recognised it immediately.

"The dress!" A dark green, shimmering dress – the one she'd worn the night of the ball. I remembered it so well, remembered how she'd come down the staircase in it, so proud of herself and her beauty, so happy when I led her down the room.

"Yes, the dress, and this." She held out her hand, and when I instinctively cupped mine, she dropped something into them that shone. A gold necklace, set with a diamond. I remembered it too; she'd worn it round her neck that night. I looked up at her as she sat there, entirely serious. Then… this was all true. It was really her.

"I used to look at these all the time and remember my home, my family, _you_." My mother was sitting with us, but Elena was talking only to me. "I vowed that I'd find a way to get home. Then, one day, the witch didn't come home. I waited for a day, but nothing happened. I concluded that something must have happened to her and that she was never coming home again. I was afraid I'd die, locked in that room. But a peasant was passing by, a woodcutter, and he heard me crying and chopped the door down. I asked him where I was, and he said I was in Falecia, in the Istian forest. He told me how to get back to Nabol, and so… Here I am."

"Why didn't you go straight home?" I asked bluntly, and my mother gave me a look. I knew that I sounded suspicious, but I didn't hugely care. It all felt wrong, somehow. Her story was ridiculous – wasn't it? And yet what other explanation was there?

"Well, firstly, Nabol is nearer, and secondly I thought I would die if I had to wait to see you any longer." She looked up at me with huge green eyes, and it was impossible to doubt them. "It is so wonderful to see you again, Callum. This place hasn't changed a bit."

"I know. Even your old rooms are the same," I muttered. This was all so wrong. I should be on top of the world right now… but all I could think of was Helen.

My father came in, and we had to hear the story of Elena's disappearance all over again while she explained it to him. Then my parents answered all her eager questions as to her family, her friends, her home… the three of them talked and talked and I just sat there numbly with no idea as to how I should be feeling. When the delicate clock on the mantelpiece chimed eleven times, my mother put a hand to her mouth.

"Oh goodness, it's late! Elena, we must get you into bed, you must be exhausted from your journey. We can talk more tomorrow, yes? Goodnight, Callum." She kissed me on both cheeks as was the custom in her home country, and held the door open for Elena, who was looking at me. I stared back uncomfortably.

"Goodnight, Callum," she said sweetly.

"Sleep well, Elena," I answered, my voice still slightly flat. She glanced at my parents, back at me, darted forwards, and kissed me quickly on the mouth before I could step back or turn my face.

"I will," she said, and she was gone with my parents.

As soon as the door shut behind them I realised that there was one thing I needed to do right now, and that was talk to Helen. And there was only one way I could think of to do that.

John was waiting for me in my rooms, his usual dour expression on his face. "John, you know that maid of Helen's, Annie? I need to speak to her, now. Can you find her?"

Johns face did not change, but I may have seen his eyebrow flicker slightly. "I know it's late," I said apologetically, "but it's urgent. Please?"

"Very well, your highness." He bowed and left. I paced the floor as I always did when I was agitated. There was too much to think about, too much to cope with. When John opened my door, I nearly jumped out of my skin. Annie was with him, and I was surprised to see that on her usually sunny-looking face was a scowl.

"You wanted to see me?" she said, rudely. I was too restless to worry about her tone, though.

"Where's Helen? Is she still here? I need to talk to her."

Annie stood there, blue eyes cold, and did not reply. I repeated myself, wondering what was wrong with her. "Helen. I need to see her. Take me to where she is."

"Don't you think," said Annie, and there was so much fury in her voice that I took a step back, "that you have done enough, your highness? Don't you think that you have caused her enough pain? Do you really think she needs _more_ to deal with?"

"I – I didn't mean – " I stammered.

"It's over, your highness. You will leave her _alone_. You have done enough damage to her life. You have duties and responsibilities towards your betrothed. Helen wants nothing to do with you from now on."

"But I – "

"Goodnight, your highness." She stalked out, losing in no way any of her dignity despite the fact that her hair was up in curlers and she was wearing slippers. I was left there, unable to say anything, feeling only despair and anger. How had this happened? Only a few hours ago I had been the happiest man alive. Now I had nothing.

No, that was not true. I had Elena.

I picked up a vase from my bookcase and considered it for a moment. It was a very ugly vase; my mother had given it to me when she was furnishing my rooms, in case I felt a desire for flowers. I had never used it, and probably never would.

I hurled it with all my strength across the room. It made a very satisfying smash against the wall; there was something exhilarating in seeing it shatter into a thousand pieces, all over the floor.

I heard a noise and turned to see John standing by the door, for once surprised out of his composure. "Your highness – " he said anxiously. I held up my hand.

"I," I said, with as much dignity as Annie herself, "am going to bed."

**Aww, poor Callum. Bless him.**

**Love to all my reviewers. You make me smile every time I get a new one :) thanks! **


	28. Chapter 28

**I have a weakness for waking up to reviews, plus I write best at night, so here is the next chapter. Let me know what you think :)**

HELEN

It was hard throwing myself back into work, but at the same time there was something gloriously satisfying in being distracted for almost every single minute of the day. I made a vow of silence to myself, which allowed nobody, least of all me, to ever get close to even mentioning any of the events of the past few weeks, particularly the name of a certain prince. It took a while, but soon even the most avid gossiper among the servants was aware that my past was not up for discussion. I was there to work, and that was it.

To my surprise I settled back in among them with ease. I had expected them to be snobby, to tease me, or to be angry that I had been living the life of a court lady while they had had to work. But either they kept their snide remarks to themselves, or they genuinely were on my side, because shortly I was on good terms once more with everyone. Not that I hadn't spoken to them while I'd been maybe-Princess; but it felt good that there was no longer a divide between us.

All the same, no matter how hard I tried, I could not avoid the prince completely. I hadn't spoken to him, or even come face-to-face, but rumours filtered down to the kitchen, whether I was trying to listen or not. The Tanezian king and queen came to visit and pronounced Elena the real Princess; they were overjoyed to be reunited with her. They took her back with them when they left, but only for a couple of weeks. Prince Callum had officially declared that the betrothal was on once again, and apparently the royal couple just couldn't bear to be parted. Besides, the Nabolese midsummer ball was speedily approaching, and what better time to publicly declare their love for each other than at that famous event?

There were other rumours, of papers to be signed, evidence to be proved genuine, and problems of diplomacy. It seemed that the Prince was making life difficult for his parents by refusing to invite all Nabolese people to the ball, despite the fact that traditionally it was a night when anyone, despite their station, was welcome to the palace. It was said that the Prince had claimed he did not want 'the whole bloody country' to attend; but this was all hearsay. Down in the kitchen, we knew nothing of social politics; all we knew was that we must make food, mountains of it, and scrub the castle until it shone for the ball. We still had three weeks until the grand evening, but our time was rapidly running through our fingers.

I had never seen so much food in my life. I would spend a day tasting the dishes I made and end up full by evening. I attributed my loss of appetite and consequent loss of weight to this, although deep down I knew it was not the only reason. I should have been happy. Ever since I could remember I had loved cooking, and I didn't mind cleaning either. But I felt distanced from my work. All I could think of was… well… him.

Even if I hadn't wanted to avoid seeing him, we would have remained apart; I was busy all the time, and he was busy too, welcoming the returned Princess, issuing invitations, sorting out marriage documents, arguing with his parents. I hadn't seen her again, either, for which I was glad. I hated to bear a grudge and I was entirely happy for her newly rediscovered happiness. I just didn't think I could meet her a second time and remain that way.

I was unlucky, however. Two weeks before the ball, I was sent along with two other maids to the ballroom to polish the floor with wax until we could see our faces in it. We were less than halfway through our job when the huge doors opened and a group of people came in. Footmen, ladies-in-waiting, the palace dance mistress and…

I ducked behind one of the tables at the side of the room where the food would be arrayed, thankful that I was hidden from sight. Annie and Ella, the two maids I'd come with, slipped unobtrusively out of the room, but I couldn't bring myself to follow them, though I knew I would get into trouble for it later. The rules were that servants should stay behind the scenes. I knew that. Besides, I'd made a promise to the King that I'd remain inconspicuous.

But I was afraid that if I left, he'd see me.

Fortunately no one looked in my direction. I sneaked a look from under the table. A couple of the footmen had instruments; they began playing a waltz. I began to understand; they were practicing a dance, preparing for the ball. Callum – the Prince, I mentally corrected myself – had one hand on the Princess's back. (I forcefully reminded myself that this was quite necessary for the waltz.) The dance mistress called out instructions; they were barely moving, only reminding themselves of the steps so far. I caught her words:

"You will hear this introduction… Feet more pointed, your highness… and there will probably be a space cleared in the room; everyone expects this…"

She continued but I was not listening any more. I'd been wrong. They were not practicing a dance. Not _a_ dance. _The _dance. The first dance at the Midsummer Ball. Everyone knew the tradition. It was tantamount to a betrothal, though of course without the weight of formality and legality. If any couples wanted to make a public announcement of their intention to commit, they would dance the first dance. This was how the Prince had chosen to make his announcement.

I didn't know why, but it hit me hard. I fought with myself. I had no reason to be upset. I knew that the Prince was marrying Princess Elena, I had always known that; and I knew that my feelings towards him were nothing more than an attraction. I was sure of that. Better to be sure of it, for even if it had been… something more, I knew that there was no chance of any romance between a scullery-maid and a Prince. Even I was not so idealistic as to imagine that it was possible. That didn't happen in real life. The gap between us was inseparable and always would be. I thought I'd accepted that; I'd had long enough by now. I _had_ accepted that.

So why could I not take my eyes off him?

They were really dancing now, whirling effortlessly around the room. I was caught up in their movement, and a strange thing happened. I began to understand the dance. No, that was not it. I felt as if I was a part of the music. I wanted to dance too, and my feet were telling me that they knew the steps – which was of course impossible. The only dancing I'd ever done had been barn-dancing, wild and energetic, the kind of dancing where your partner swung you round and your feet never stopped jumping and you sat down afterwards thankfully, out of breath. The village dances used to be my favourite times of the year. George would always ask me to dance –

But I was not in the village now, I was in the palace, and noticing something. Although Princess Elena danced gracefully, her feet gliding, her head held high, she was slightly out of step with the Prince. It was difficult to pinpoint, but somehow she was not dancing _with_ him, she was merely dancing beside him. And my feet were insisting that somehow I knew how to partner him better. He needed someone who would step more lightly, twirl more swiftly…

She was bending her head forwards, whispering something in his ear, her lips nearly touching his neck. It was a possessive posture, an intimate one that spoke of shared secrets and private jokes. I looked back down and began scrubbing the floor with unnecessary force. Not for the first time, I wondered about my future. Would I stay here when the royal couple were married? It was likely that they would go almost immediately to visit Tanezia and Elena's parents, and make a long visit there, but they would return here to live. Could I bear to stay here with him? Could I bear to leave him?

I wanted to look at him again, just once more. I crept forwards carefully under the table and directed my gaze upwards. They were almost directly opposite me, her head still ducked into his shoulder, and his eyes on the wall opposite him. There was an expression in them I couldn't read. I had expected happiness, joy, but he seemed… distant.

That was when his eyes dropped to meet mine.

I threw myself back so quickly that I was not sure whether he had seen me. He hadn't really been focussing on anything, as if he had been having a mental conversation with himself. Perhaps I was lucky and it seemed the case when he did not shout out or stop the dance. I breathed a silent sigh of relief and continued to gently polish the floor, waiting for them to leave.

It took less time than I'd expected. The Prince dismissed the servants with a couple of words and was left alone with his future bride. I stiffened, hoping that I would not be subjected to a private show of affection, but he merely bowed to the Princess and said:

"Beautifully danced, Elena. I will see you at supper tonight."

She dropped him a graceful curtsey and replied, "Of course, Callum."

(I told myself that since they were engaged, it was perfectly normal for them to be using first names.)

She left the room, swishing her long rose-coloured skirt behind her. There was no doubt about it, she was beautiful.

The prince waited until she'd left the room, then walked to the window nearest my table. I held my breath, but all he did was stare out of the window into the gardens for a long time. I wondered what he was thinking. Was he looking forward to his marriage with the beautiful Princess he'd lost and found again? He must be. Everyone knew he'd loved her all his life.

"Do you usually spy on people?" His voice was calm, amused. I froze.

"Helen? I know you're under there. I saw you." He was looking towards me, I knew, yet I couldn't move. A second later his face appeared in my view. "Come out of there, there's no one else here."

Blushing, I scrambled out from under the table and stood before him. I knew that I did not look presentable. I had a smudge of polish on my nose – why did it become itchy as soon as my hands were dirty? – and my apron was filthy over my ugly maid's uniform. But there wasn't a thing I could do about it and so I held my head high as the Prince looked at me.


	29. Chapter 29

**Be prepared for some Jane Eyre-iness. I wrote this scene before I'd even written the opening chapter, and originally Helen's name was going to be Jane, but reading this over I realised quite how much I'd borrowed, so Helen it was. Just some trivia for you :P **

HELEN

"You don't look well," was the first thing he said. I couldn't help it – I answered rudely.

"There's a nice greeting from someone who has finally deigned to speak to me."

He had the grace to look away. "I'm sorry, Helen. It's been a… busy time." The weight of our last conversation hung between us. So many words unsaid. Why had he never come to see me? But then, I had not wanted to speak to him. It would have been a useless errand for him to seek me out. Perhaps he had known that.

"Well, it has for me too, hence my not looking my absolute best. But there's no need to make personal remarks. For instance, I have not mentioned once how you definitely need a haircut."

He looked back at me, and I could see that he was trying not to smile. He took a step closer to me and looked down into my eyes. "I've missed you, you know," he said, and a warning sounded in my head. In a panic, I blurted:

"Your bride is very beautiful. When will you be married?"

I had meant to distance myself from him, to prevent both him and me from falling into sentimentalism, but at the look on his face I wanted to put my arms around him. The light in his eyes vanished and sadness cast a shadow over his face.

"Ca – Your highness? What is it?"

He rubbed a hand over his forehead before looking at me again. "Helen, can you understand? She is not Elena to me. I know it is her; the stories match, everything is proved, and yet she is a stranger to me. How can I love a stranger, Helen? How?"

"She is not a stranger, your highness," I answered him, though my heart was aching for his pain. "She is your betrothed, and even if you do not love her, it is your duty to marry her. You loved her once; you can love her again."

He turned away from me abruptly. "My duty!" he burst out. "Yes, it is my duty to marry a girl I feel I have never met before! I hate the word!" I did not reply and after a moment he closed his eyes. I watched him as he took deep breaths, thinking how close he was to me and yet so far away. He did need a haircut. His hair was curling down the back of his brown neck. My eyes traced the square line of his jaw, the strong eyebrows and firm lips; for a moment I allowed myself to feel about him the way I could do if I, too, was a Princess. Then I buried it as deep as I could and I was a servant girl again.

"Your highness – " But I was interrupted. He was suddenly standing over me, hands on my shoulders, his face only inches from mine. His dark eyes snapped.

"You say I loved her once. Yes. But everything I loved her for – everything I knew – has changed. She is no longer the Princess I was betrothed to. How can I love her, Helen?" His voice became gentler. He was pleading with me. "Why can't I marry someone I do love? Someone who knows my true character, someone I would happily spend the rest of my life with?" I was silent, my mind racing, my heart hammering. His eyes were no longer hard but tender, wistful. "Helen…" he whispered.

I hardened my heart and pulled away from his grasp. "I am sorry, your highness. You must marry the Princess, and we both know that there is no other way. I am needed in the kitchen. I will not see you again."

He had closed his eyes again at my words but when I said the last sentence they snapped open. "What?" he said, his voice hard and expressionless.

"I am leaving."

His face was so angry that I took an involuntary step back. "When did you make this decision?" he growled.

"Recently." _Just now_.

"You will not leave me." A direct order. One I longed to obey – no, I did not, I firmly told myself.

"You do not own me, your highness. I may be your servant but I am not an object to be treated like property. I am leaving after the ball and I will not see you again." With those words I marched to the door, not stopping to look back until I heard his voice again.

"_Helen_." There was so much eloquence in his voice that tears came into my eyes, in spite of myself. I turned back for the last time.

"You know that it's the best thing for both of us," I said quietly, and then I shut the door behind me.

Annie was the only one who knew everything and so I knew that she'd be waiting for me. Sure enough, when I got back down to the kitchen, having composed myself, she was almost incandescent with impatience. Before I could be given another job, she grabbed me, forced a knife into my hand and made me help her peel the mountain of potatoes in front of her.

"_Well?"_ she demanded when she could be sure no one would overhear her in the clatter of the huge kitchen.

"Well what?" I teased her, giving her my most innocent look.

"You stayed! Why did you stay?"

I twisted my mouth ruefully. "I know, it was stupid. I just didn't want him to see me again. I've managed to avoid him so far…"

She was wide-eyed. "And did he see you?"

"Yes."

She gasped. "Helen! What happened? Did anyone else see?"

"No, only him."

She breathed a sigh of relief: "Helen, you do realise that if anyone notices, you could be dismissed?"

"Well, that's not quite true," I answered her, concentrating on peeling another potato, slippery under my fingers. "Everyone turns a blind eye if royalty takes a fancy to a servant – "

"Yes, but this isn't like that, is it?" she interrupted me, and I felt my cheeks flush. She knew too much. "It's not like he's taken you to his bedchamber for a couple of nights and sent you back in the morning. This is more serious. You have a _history_ – " My blush deepened and I shook my head.

"No," I answered. "He just liked our friendship and doesn't want to let it go. He can't accept that I'm a servant girl and nothing else, but he will have to. I'm not going to see him again."

"How will you make sure of that?"

I peeled two more potatoes before answering. "I'm leaving." The heavy potatoes hit the bottom of the metal saucepan with a final thud, adding weight to my words.

"When?" Annie breathed, her mouth open.

I wiped my hands on my apron and picked up another potato. "As soon as possible after the ball."

I expected another barrage of questions – why, where I would go, whether I would get another job, but instead she stared at me for so long that I began to feel uncomfortable under her round blue eyes. Eventually a housemaid walking past noticed that she was not working and gave her a light cuff on the back of the head.

"You, Annie! Hurry that up!"

"Yes, Nancy," she answered obediently, continuing with her work, but she leant forwards to me when Nancy was out of earshot and whispered: "You love him."

"What?" I exclaimed, far too loudly. "That is absolute rubbish, Annie."

She shook her head and an unreasonable anger swept through me. "That's not fair! Just because we were friends doesn't mean I love him. I like him very much but my heart will definitely not be broken if I never see him again. I'm doing this for his sake. He needs to concentrate on his marriage, for the good of the kingdom!"

I'd said more than I'd meant to, for she gasped again. "He likes you that much?"

"Well," I said uncomfortably, "I didn't realise it until today, but I think he does."

"Oh, Helen! If only that stupid ratty Princess hadn't turned up! He might have married _you_!"

My turn to shake my head. "Annie, we both know I'm not the Princess. It would have been wrong for me to marry him, even if Elena hadn't been found. And anyway, he does love her really. He's just a little… distracted by me."

She was only silent for a little while before saying, "I know you like him more than you say."

I clenched my jaw. "You could not be more wrong."

"I – " she began but I snapped:

"I don't want to discuss it!"

We finished peeling the potatoes in silence.


	30. Chapter 30

**Feeling a bit low today, so decided the best medicine was to post this chapter and hopefully get some more lovely reviews. And sorry that the Callum POVs are a bit scarce - for some reason this part seems more interesting through Helen's eyes... **

HELEN

Annie did not bring up the subject again, even at night when we slept in our tiny twin beds in our attic room. She did however convince me to eat more; she was worried that I was fading away. I gave in for fear that she'd ask me more awkward questions.

What I was most afraid of was that I'd change my mind and stay, so I made sure I had no way out, took the plunge, and wrote to George.

It was the first time I'd written to him since I'd left – come to think of it, the first time I'd ever written to him. I didn't know how he'd receive it, but however he felt, he was George and he would do as I asked. _Please come to take me home,_ I'd said simply. _I can't stay here any more. I'm not in trouble, I just need to be home again. I will look for you in two weeks. _I hadn't had a reply, but I knew that he'd come.

I successfully avoided the Prince for the next few days as my workload got heavier, although I had one or two close shaves; once I was sent to wash the stone stairs and only escaped by slipping through the iron banisters and jumping down as he walked past; another time the sound of his voice enabled me to duck behind a curtain and watch him and his Princess laugh about something or other as they went to breakfast. He did not show any signs of missing me and I tried to be cheerful about this. Perhaps he had finally accepted what I'd known all along. If so, well and good.

But that didn't stop my heart jumping when a message came from him to me.

"Helen? Helen! Has anyone seen a maid called Helen?"

"That's me," I answered the lady-in-waiting who had ventured into the kitchen. She looked me up and down with an expression of acute disgust. "Clean yourself up, girl. The Prince wants his hair cut and he says you will do it best."

Crimson flooded my face as I remembered the last time I'd cut his hair. Why was he doing this to me? I found my voice.

"Very well. I will be there as soon as I can."

When I entered the Prince's rooms my face and hands had been scrubbed clean and Annie, ever anxious to be helpful, had neatly tied back my hair with a pretty blue ribbon and lent me her spare clean apron.

As last time, the Prince was sitting in the chair in front of his mirror, waiting for me, while John (who was clearly not at all happy at his job being taken by a girl) gave me his customary disapproving look. The Prince waved a hand.

"You may go, John. Thank you."

His expression hardening, John left the room. We were left alone. I did not move. I could feel his eyes on me in the mirror, but I stared at the floor.

"Your highness, you should not send out the other servants. You know what everyone will think."

CALLUM

I leant back in my chair, still watching her in the mirror.

"And what's that?" I asked calmly. I saw her eyes flicker up once and then down again.

"It is not good for the whole palace to suspect that the Prince is having an affair with a servant, right before his wedding."

"The wedding is not until winter. You know that."

"Indeed."

Why was she being so… so… I could not express it. She used to be so free and easy with me – that was what had drawn me to her in the first place; she'd treated me like a man, not a Prince. And now…

"Well, since I am not having an affair, they can go and get stuffed." I wanted to make her laugh. I wanted to go back to the casual friendship we'd had before; I wanted… I wanted so much that I couldn't have.

She didn't laugh, though; she picked up the pair of scissors and, stepping forward, began to cut my hair. I closed my eyes; her hands were gentle and just to have her near made me relax. It was a while before I spoke.

"Do you remember the last time you did this for me?"

I could see that she flushed. "Be careful of what you say, your highness; this is a very sharp pair of scissors." She said that in the tart, short way she used to speak to me, and my grin widened.

"I'm sure that would go down very well indeed with my bride. Every girl wants a boy missing an ear."

"It wouldn't be just an ear that you were missing, your highness," Helen said demurely, and this time I was sure she was almost smiling.

"As long as you cut the hair too, no one will mind. Just don't make me bald, will you?"

"The more you talk, the more I am tempted, _sir_," she rebutted.

I was silent for an instant. "Helen, why won't you call me by my name?"

"It is not proper for a servant to call their master by their name, your highness."

"My name is Callum, not 'your highness'."

"Yes, sire."

"Call me Callum."

"No, sire."

"Helen!"

"Your highness!"

"Are you driving me crazy on purpose?"

Her eyes met mine in the mirror. "I would never do anything to upset you on purpose," she told me, and I knew she was telling the truth.

"But you are determined to leave?"

"Yes."

"That upsets me."

"That is not why I am leaving. I am leaving because it is the right thing to do."

I didn't answer her, but my mind was whirling. I had to stop her going. Somehow, I would find a way.

"There you go, your highness. That looks much better."

I looked in the mirror. She was right, I did look better. For a brief second, I felt Helen's hands rest lightly on my shoulders. Then she brushed the hair off my shirt and turned round to go.

"Wait!" For a moment I lost my self-control as I pictured her walking out of the door, never to return. With a jump I was across the room and barring the door. There was a look I'd never seen before in her eyes. It took a moment for me to identify it as fear. Startled, I made my voice gentle. "Come to the ball."

"What?" Whatever she had been expecting, it hadn't been that.

I stared down at her; at the tiny freckles on her nose, her stubborn chin, her green eyes that still seemed to me like those of the Elena I had lost, rather than the one I had found. I remembered how beautiful her dark hair looked when it was loose.

"Helen, please come to the ball. Just to say goodbye. Just to see me one last time… then I'll never try to find you again."

She was thinking it through, I could tell, by the little crease that gathered between her eyebrows. "I can't. If anyone found out… if anything went wrong… and besides, they need me below stairs…"

"Please. For me. To say goodbye." I put a hand beneath her chin and tipped up her face so that she had to look at me. I could feel her pulse drumming against my fingers. "Will you come?" I asked softly.

"Yes," she whispered back, as if she was hypnotised by my gaze. Then she blinked and pulled away, a confused expression in her eyes. "I – I – I have to go." She ran past me and down the corridor; I could hear her feet thudding on the carpet.

"See you there," I whispered.

HELEN

_Why did I say yes? Why, why, why? _Of all the stupid things to do! There was no way I could get into the ball. I had no clothes to wear, no fine jewellery. And apart from all of that, I didn't want to see him again! It would only make it harder to say goodbye.

For him, of course. Not me. I was fine.

I was angry with him as I stomped upstairs to bed that night. Annie had been desperate to hear what had happened but we'd been given separate jobs all day; I knew she would be waiting to grill me. I sighed. I didn't know if I wanted to talk about it. He'd manipulated me into agreeing to something utterly ridiculous and I still had no idea how he'd done it.

"Helen! There you are! Have you any idea how long I've been waiting? Tell me EVERYTHING!"

"Annie…" I sighed. Automatically, my fingers picked at the knot in my apron until it came loose, and flinging it onto the one chair we had between us, I collapsed onto my bed. Annie was already in her nightgown and she came forwards to help me undo the buttons at the back of my dress. "I need your help."

"You do?" She was excited. She loved helping people.

I got up, stepped out from my uniform, pulled my thin nightgown over my head. "I did something very, very stupid today…"

Her eyes, as usual, were wide. "Helen! You mean – "

It took me a moment to catch on and then I blushed furiously. "No! Not _that_. He… he asked me to go to the Ball."

"What?" She was as surprised as I had been.

"And I can't go! There's no way I would get away with it and anyway, what on earth am I supposed to wear? Rags? I suppose he thinks a fairy will wave her wand and turn me into a princess…"

Annie's freckled countenance was looking more determined than I'd ever seen it. "You don't need a fairy, Helen. You have me."

In the process of brushing out my hair, I stopped. "What do you mean?"

"I mean I'll help you. You _will_ go to the Ball, in a beautiful dress too. I'll make you one. Don't worry, Helen; we'll sort everything out."

"But we only have a day and a half! You'll never be able to do it."

"Oh, yes I will. How much money do you have?"

"Some. Not too much." We were not paid very much at all, since we were given bed and board; but what little we were granted, I'd been saving to give to my parents. Still – this seemed to be an emergency.

"Me too. Don't worry, we'll manage." She cut across my protests with a sharp, "Don't interrupt! Tomorrow I'll go to the market and buy some things. We will make you into a Princess, Helen… don't you worry."

And with that I had to be content.

**A/N: Just a little more JE? Maybe :P **


	31. Chapter 31

**Slightly girly filler chapter. Fun to write though. I promise we are actually getting somewhere. Just a few more twists and turns and there will eventually be an end... hopefully...**

HELEN

The next day amazed me. I hadn't realised quite how many friends I'd made in the comparatively short time I'd been here. The housemaids, the kitchen maids, the gardeners; even the head cook and housekeeper all agreed to do anything they could to help me out. With their combined efforts, my outfit gradually came together. The dress was, of course, the most important consideration, but Annie went behind my back and got Lydia involved, which meant that she had full support of the palace seamstress. Together they, along with any of the servants who had any kind of aptitude for sewing, whipped me up a dress in record time. They refused to let me see the finished product, insisting that they knew it fitted perfectly from my measurements and that it should be a surprise. One of the ladies-in-waiting said that she knew of a beautiful jewellery stall and could get me a pair of earrings to match my snowflake necklace. Lydia offered pearls to put into my hair. A group of the maids ransacked the market and came back with the most beautiful shawl I had ever seen, a rich mossy green, soft and heavy, to drape around my shoulders. Another lady-in-waiting lent me her perfume. And somehow they managed to do this all in the space of one day; by the evening, the outfit was complete. The only thing missing was…

"Shoes!"

"What?" I said sleepily. It was the middle of the night and I'd been woken by Annie's cry. I managed to lift myself up onto my elbow and look over to her bed. She was sitting bolt upright, a comical figure as she clutched the blankets to her chest and looked over at me, wide-eyed.

"We didn't get shoes for you!"

"Oh, is that all?" My bed was so comfortable and I was so tired…

"Helen, you can't go to the ball in those horrible old boots from home! We _have_ to find you shoes! Oh no, this is terrible… your feet are _tiny_, you know. No one else will have any small enough! What are we going to do?"

"I don't know," I moaned. "Please let me sleep…"

"Listen, tomorrow morning, we are going to the market, all right? And we'll sort something out for you."  
"We're on cooking duty tomorrow," I informed her, half-asleep.

"Then we'll sneak out. Cook will let us. Good. Night, Helen."

"Mmm," I mumbled, already back in the land of dreams.

Being woken up at the crack of dawn had never been my favourite part of working at the palace, but usually I managed to at least act like I was alive until I'd had breakfast. Today wasn't so easy. Quite apart from the fact that I'd only got about six hours of sleep, it just seemed like a better option to snuggle into my warm bed and stay there for the rest of my life than have to face saying goodbye to the Prince. Because that was what it was – no matter how excited everyone was getting about dressing me up, ultimately it was just a fancy farewell.

Annie, however, was inexorable. "Get _up_, you lazy pig! We're going to cram our chores as much as possible so that we can spare an hour or two finding shoes for you. Go wash and dress, double-quick." I groaned but obeyed; our relationship was easy and always had been but I was slightly in awe of the sharp edge of her tongue. I woke up soon enough – being in the busy palace kitchen tended to have that effect. Since today was the last day, all the last-minute dishes that wouldn't have kept were being baked, and the cook was nearly out of her mind with distraction. In the end we decided that it was best to slip away when her attention was otherwise engaged, for fear she'd bite our heads off just for addressing her. Accordingly, when her back was turned, we escaped the heat and tension and rich smells and made our way as quickly as possible to town.

Annie talked at top speed all the way there, for which I was deeply grateful; the memory of my day with Ca – the Prince was not one I wanted to relive right now. And then we arrived, the market just as noisy and busy and overcrowded as it had been before. It was almost refreshing to lose myself in the maze of stalls, just briefly letting myself forget my worries and enjoying the sights. First of all I made sure to buy that little wooden dog for Bobby, since I wouldn't have another chance, and then I allowed Annie to drag me around the stalls looking for shoes.

This, unfortunately, proved difficult. I had never thought of my feet as particularly small before but now it seemed that none of the shoes we found would fit me properly, and those that did were apparently not the right colour for the dress. I wanted to give up, but my friend refused, constantly pulling me over to a different shop or stall: "Look, it looks like they might sell shoes here!" or "Hang on, let's just _check_…" But even Annie's inexhaustible supply of enthusiasm was running low by the time we'd checked every single stall.

"Come on," I pleaded with her. "Maybe Lydia will have a pair of slippers she can lend me."

"No," said Annie stubbornly. "Look, there's that one shop down there we haven't checked. See?"

"Yes…" I said doubtfully. It was the kind of shop that I'd be afraid to enter alone. Its glass panelled windows were thick with dirt, though a couple of curious children had rubbed circles through the filth to see inside to the window displays, and the name painted over the door was faded. I stepped closer and read, with difficulty, 'MISCELLANEOUS'. "I suppose shoes are included in that," I conceded.

"Of course they are. Come on." Annie was already at the door. I followed her as she pushed it open; a tinny bell tinkled half-heartedly as we entered. "Ooh, creepy," she said cheerfully.

I agreed. The interior was dark, and somehow gave the impression of a maze of objects, piled high around the room, which I couldn't identify. Most of them appeared to be books. The single lantern on the counter could have been more intended to cause shadows than to see by, judging from the amount of light it shed. "Hello?" I said cautiously.

"Hello?" came a reply, an exact echo of my inflection but in a male voice.

"Um, is anybody there?"

"Is anybody there?" answered the echo, and then a creaking, rusty sound. It took me a moment to realise that it was laughter. I was so cowed by this that Annie took over.

"We are looking for a pair of shoes," she said briskly into the darkness behind the counter. "Do you have anything?"

There was a brief silence, and then a man loomed out of the shadows. He was tiny, bent over with age, his shrewd eyes glinting in his wrinkled face; he got hold of the lantern with a hand bent like a claw and held it up to our faces, muttering to himself. "Ah – mmm," he said when he'd looked at us. "Shoes, you says? Shoes. Who for, might I ask?"

"For… for me," I stammered. His gaze was somehow frightening. In that brief glance, I felt that he'd read me and knew everything that there was to know about my life and my character.

"Yes. Going to the ball?"

"How did you – "

He chuckled again, a sound that made goosebumps appear on my arms. This situation was bizarre, to say the least. But Annie, for one, wasn't about to squander our last chance. "Have you got any?" she said, enunciating clearly.

The man considered us for a while longer, and then disappeared along with the lantern, leaving us in darkness broken only by the thin light leaking in through the dirty windows. "Was that a yes?" she whispered to me, and I shrugged.

After a long time, he returned with a slightly battered box clutched under his arm. "These is all I have," he wheezed. "Won't suit just anyone. Here. Try them on."

I exchanged glances with Annie, and then advanced to the counter and carefully lifted the lid, expecting something ancient and moth-eaten. But to my astonishment, there lay the most beautiful pair of shoes I'd ever seen. They were made of glass: faceted, like diamond, to make them reflect the light. They were clear, but the palest possible shade of pink, and they had sweet little heels. But I immediately swallowed my love for them. "They probably won't fit, especially if they're made of glass. They'll be uncomfortable."

"Just try 'em," said the old man impatiently. Obediently, I took off my old walking boots and slipped the shoes onto my feet. The strangest sensation came over me as I stood up. It was as if the shoes were shrinking to fit me. Far from being uncomfortable, my feet felt perfectly cradled in the glass. I looked down, and couldn't help smiling at how beautiful they looked.

The old man was nodding. "Yes… I thought so. You take care of those, girl. They'll never fit anyone but you. Mind that, now."

I took the shoes off with care and laid them back into the box, on their bed of tissue. "I'll take them, please. How much?"

The man considered, tipping his head to one side. Annie was silent, but I could feel impatience radiating from her. "I been looking for an owner for those shoes for a while," he said at last. "Four pieces of silver."

I could afford that. Joyfully, I counted out the money, and thanked him, holding the precious box tightly. He just nodded, but I could feel his eyes on me as we left the shop.

"Ugh!" exclaimed Annie, as we came back out into the fresh air and the light. "That was _very_ odd! But we found shoes, and they will be perfect with the dress."

I was about to agree, when a call from behind us made me turn. The old man had reappeared in the doorway. "Wait!" he said, and beckoned to me. With some trepidation, I walked back over to him. He held out something to me.

"To wear with the shoes," he said.

I took it, and felt my face pale. It was a snowdrop – a real, live, snowdrop, and one of the most perfect specimens I'd ever seen. Its white petals almost shone in the sunlight.

"But where – ?" I stammered. It was midsummer. Snowdrops did not come out in summer. "How?"

"Take care," was all the answer I received, and with surprising speed he had buried himself back in the darkness of his shop. I stared at the flower in my hand.

"Come on, Helen," called Annie impatiently. "Time to get back to the palace."

"Coming," I said, dazed. This had to be one of the most bizarre mornings of my life.


	32. Chapter 32

**Just had a review begging me to put this up and I love all of you so... :D here is the chapter you have been waiting for! I hope it lives up to your expectations. One condition - you must review and tell me if you like it! **

HELEN

"Annie, will you _stop_ pulling at my hair?" I snapped. Time and my patience were running out dangerously fast, and despite the fact that I'd been ready by my standards at least an hour ago, Annie was having none of it. She had finished doing whatever torture she'd decided on to my hair and was now – painfully – busy putting the pearls into it, and then taking them all out and starting all over again. This was the third time. "I don't care where they go. I just want to get in there, dance if I absolutely have to, say goodbye to the Prince, and leave. All this is completely unnecessary – "

"Shh," said Annie shortly, giving me a light slap on the shoulder. "You're distracting me."

"I'm – ?" I spluttered.

"I'll do it a fourth time if I have to," she threatened, and I subsided meekly. What seemed like hours later, she sighed and pushed me away. "I suppose that will have to do. Though that one there is just a little out of place – let me just – "

"Don't you dare!" I skipped out of reach. "Am I done?"

"Just the shoes."

"Of course." Reverently, I opened the box and took them out. They seemed, if possible, even prettier than they had in the shop. And Annie had been right – they went perfectly with the dress. I slipped them onto my feet, wondering again how they could possibly feel warm and soft when they were neither. They seemed to shimmer, as if they had been bathed in fairy dust. Which, I thought wryly as I remembered where they'd come from, might not be so far from the truth.

"Now look at yourself," said Annie importantly. Lydia had practically forced me to use her dressing room to prepare; she herself had been ready hours ago and was downstairs, greeting guests by now. She'd looked gorgeous, in a sweet blue dress and with her curly dark hair and brown skin complemented perfectly by the cream lace on the neckline. She was radiantly happy, because Prince Marcus of Tanezia would be there.

"Do I have to?" I complained. I was scared enough about this whole venture, now that it was actually happening; there was a pool of cold fear in my stomach. I didn't really want to see myself and be nervous about that too. But Annie, as usual, was inexorable. She pushed me in front of the full length mirror.

I stared. I looked… different. That was the only word that summed it up. I couldn't really find myself among my finery. But the dress was very pretty and my hair did look nice. The shoes, peeping out from under the skirt, twinkled at me. _Glass shoes for a glass girl._ What if I fell to pieces? Oh, I was so nervous.

"One more thing," Annie reminded me. She held up the snowdrop – which, despite the fact that I'd not put it in water, had unaccountably stayed fresh all day. "Stay still." She pinned it to the waist of my dress. It was so tiny that it was barely noticeable; but just knowing it was there somehow built up my confidence. It felt like a reminder of who I was. I was Snowdrop, my father's daughter, and I wasn't about to get trampled by anybody. I took a deep breath.

"All right. It's time to leave."

I had thought myself nervous while I dressed, but standing outside the ballroom entrance was worse. I was late, and everyone was already there. I had to do it. There was no way around it. Perhaps I could slip in unnoticed. Gathering up the hem of my long skirt, I walked down the hallway and stood in the middle of the doorway.

Inside was a hushed silence, broken only by the soft music from the band. Throngs of gorgeously arrayed men and women lined the room, holding their breath, looking towards the centre of the dance floor. There, arms wrapped around each other for all the world as though they were the only two people in existence, were the Prince and Princess, dancing the first dance. They were alone, though I guessed that in a moment other young couples who wanted to announce their betrothals would join them.

I was rooted to the floor. I wanted to run away. How stupid could one get? I had thought, worried, planned, dressed up for this – all for nothing. Did I really think the Prince would even spare a moment to say goodbye to me when he had Elena to occupy him? She was looking amazing in a green gown that highlighted the colour of her eyes and the excited flush on her cheeks, and her hair had been intricately braided all around her shapely head. As for the Prince – he looked, well, wonderful; there was no way around it. The white shirt against the brown of his skin became him perfectly, and the circlet on his head made him look more kingly than ever. (The practical side of me noted, with satisfaction, that his haircut was just right.)

But no matter how hard I argued with myself, I just could not leave. The dance went on, the royal couple staring lovingly into each others' eyes, and a few other young men shyly led their partners on to dance with them; yet still I stayed. And then it was ending and the dance was slowing and had come to a stop, and still I stood, in full view of everybody, eyes fixed on the prince alone. He was bowing to Elena now as she curtseyed elaborately; he was directly opposite to me and suddenly I knew exactly what was about to happen.

He lifted his face and saw me. He did not smile: he just looked, but that look was so intense that nearly everybody in the room turned to look with him… including Elena.

And somehow, I did not care.

CALLUM

I had had an intense sense of déjà-vu ever since the beginning of the evening. I was at my own home, not at the Tanezian palace, and I was waiting for Helen rather than Elena, but the tension, the nervousness, all belonged to that evening long ago. I kept trying to push down that thought. I kept trying to remind myself that Elena was here already, that I did not need to wait for anybody else. But my eyes kept straying to the doorway.

Elena was delighted to see all the guests, and welcomed each one individually with a pretty smile and a few words. Every time we had a spare moment, she would whisper something to me like how exciting this evening was, or ask me to make sure her tiara was straight. I imagined if it was Helen sitting beside me receiving visitors at this prestigious event. She'd probably be whispering to me too – but rude things about how ugly their clothes were or how much they were fawning over me. I snorted, and earned myself a sharp glance from my mother.

Why did people enjoy this sort of thing? It was plain boring, I had concluded by the time nearly everyone had arrived. All people did was eat and gossip, and dance. Why not do that at home? It was hot in the hall and I tugged at my collar, grinning to myself as I remembered doing the same thing at every single other ball I'd ever been to. Some things never changed.

Then it was time for my dance with Elena, and somehow it was a little hard to take those five steps onto the dance floor. In my mind, this dance was irrevocable, no matter how much I knew that it was not a legally binding commitment. Once we had danced together, all the guests would assume that we would be married. Which was the case, of course. I couldn't not marry Elena. The very idea was preposterous – wasn't it?

These same thoughts had been bothering me for the past month, but I shook my head to get rid of them. Elena was looking at me, waiting for me to begin. So I took her in my arms, and we danced.

I should have been thinking about her. I should have been staring into her eyes and whispering sweet nothings into her ear. But somehow my mind was a blank. The whole dance passed me by in a blur. All the time, I was aware of an increasingly sickening feeling of disappointment. Of course Helen hadn't come. Why should she? I was nothing to her; she'd proven that when she'd returned to being a maid, when she'd told me to marry Elena. She had probably left the palace by now. I twirled Elena round gently, stopped, and bowed to her.

That was when I saw her.

It hit me like a physical blow: how beautiful she was. She was wearing a white dress that was simple in design, so simple that it suited her perfectly; the tight bodice outlined the curve of her waist, while the long flowing skirt made her seem taller. She was clutching a deep green shawl that had slipped off one rounded shoulder, showing the white, smooth skin of her arm. I could hardly fail to miss the allusion to a snowdrop, and to finish off the image there was a flower at her waist. But her hair was what captivated me. It had been carefully brushed out to stand out from around her head, and the mass of dark curls – down to her waist almost – had been seeded with creamy pearls. The hem of her white dress had also been sewn with a band of tiny seed pearls, and just beneath it glittered her shoes. How odd – they looked like they were made of glass. But best of all, she was once more wearing the necklace I'd given to her: it shone on her chest, a beacon of hope to say that she had not forgotten me.

The dark, long-lashed eyes held mine for so long across that room that I almost forgot where I was. How had I never seen how beautiful she really was? How had I not fallen for her the moment I'd met her? But it wasn't just her beauty that held me. It was the little details: the way there was a tiny crease in her forehead when she was a little anxious, as she was now; the way one side of her mouth twitched upwards when she was amused at something; the way she tucked stray ebony curls firmly behind an ear, only for them to pop out again; the way she laughed and the way she cried; the way she loved to walk without shoes on and the way I could always tell what she was thinking from her expression.

But I couldn't stand and stare at her forever. Everyone was waiting for something to happen; the band were ready to start another dance. I had to do _something._

"Thank you for the dance, Elena," I said quietly but firmly. "I think I will sit out the next one. I'll surrender you to another willing partner."

She looked confused, but I had no time for her now; my entire being was otherwise occupied. I did not care that all the guests were watching; I did not care that I was about to commit the biggest faux pas in history; I walked across the room to the doorway, and stood before my Helen.

"So you came," I said, and though I wanted to be serious I couldn't help smiling.

"Well, obviously, since I'm here," she snapped, and somehow her annoyance was so endearing that I wanted to kiss her.

"So I see. You look…" Words failed me. "Amazing."

Her cheeks flushed deep red. "Thank you… You too."

"Would you like a drink?"

She looked uncertain, as well she might. Neither of us knew how to act. Neither of us knew what was the right thing to do. This was not a situation that happened frequently. "Yes please."

I took her over to the drinks table and got some spiced wine for the both of us, and then we secured a couple of chairs in one of the quieter corners of the room and sat down to watch the dancers. The fact that I could feel about a hundred pairs of eyes on me did not bother me in the slightest. For now, I had Helen, and I meant to make the most of it. Her company was so easy, so enjoyable; within moments our reserve had melted away and suddenly we were giggling about the mannerisms of young court ladies or the way a poor Lord had got rejected by a popular belle. How did she do this to me? One moment I was a prince, fulfilling my duty, the next I was just a boy sitting with a pretty girl.

"Look," I said, pointing discreetly. "Lydia found Marcus." I'd avoided saying anything to my future brother-in-law; things were still fairly awkward between us, possibly because he sensed that my feelings towards his newly-found sister were not quite as they should be. But he and Lydia looked happy; she was just the right height to put her head on his shoulder, and he looked very protective of her as they slow danced.

"Oh, they're adorable," sighed Helen. "Look at how she's got her arms round his neck. Do you think they've kissed yet?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Ew. I don't want to think about that, thank you. That's my baby sister you're talking about."

"Sorry," she giggled.

"You're not forgiven."

"Oh, please forgive me?" She pretended to grovel. "Great One, your Mighty Majesty, I was but in jest…"

"I will forgive thee… but on one condition," I said, making my voice as deep as possible. "Thou must dance with me before midnight!"

"In front of everybody?" said Helen, lapsing into her normal tone and looking slightly frightened. "But people will think – "

"Hang people," I interrupted her. "Come on. This one's just starting." I got up, pulled her to her feet. The playful mood we'd been in had vanished, gone as abruptly as it had come. Her face was entirely serious as she looked into my eyes. "Please," I said.

Her only answer was to give me her hand. My heart speeding, oblivious of all the astonished stares, I took it and led her out into the middle of the floor for our last dance.

**Eeeee! Just a friendly warning - updates may come a little slower from now on as I'm only about a chapter ahead now. The more reviews I get, the quicker I write, though. Not quite sure why. :P **


	33. Chapter 33

**I felt so guilty at the cliffhanger that I'm putting this up earlier than I had planned to. But it does mean you have to wait til I've written more! THIS is the one you've all been waiting for. REVIEW please my lovelies! **

HELEN

It was both the longest and the shortest dance I had ever known. Although the room around us was packed, I saw nobody, nobody but him. His hand at my waist was gentle, and a strange warmth I'd never felt before was spreading through me at his touch. I had been right, before. Elena was the wrong partner for him. When the prince and I danced, we were perfectly matched, gliding around the room like we were floating on air; it was as if all the barriers between us had fallen away at last. His gaze was so intense on mine that I kept forgetting to breathe; I couldn't think of anything but how deep his black eyes were and how soft the curve of his lips. Neither of us smiled, for we both knew that this was something that could not be allowed to happen ever again. This was our last dance, and we put our very souls into it.

Too soon, so much too soon, the music was coming to an end. The prince spun me around gracefully, my heart flying, and let me fall backwards. Before I stumbled, he caught me, one strong arm behind my back, his face only an inch away from mine, his eyes still looking into mine. Both of us were breathing fast. We held the position for a moment, totally unaware of everyone around us, frozen as we stood.

I was the one to break the spell. I tore myself away from his hands and, not knowing where I was going, fled blindly from the room. The only thought in my head was _this can't be happening._ I wanted to escape, to leave far behind me the terrible truth that I was still desperate to deny.

CALLUM

I found her on the balcony. I'd spent a while searching for her, asking guests if they'd seen a girl in a pearl-white dress, checking in empty rooms. I felt, somehow, as if I were flying. I had to find her so that I could tell her, could share this joy with her that permeated every fibre of my being…

She was looking out at the view, hands clenched on the rail, dark hair dishevelled and flowing over her shoulder. I drank in the sight of her for a moment, then walked towards her until I was only a foot away. She was shivering, though the night was not cold.

"You shouldn't have danced with me," she said in a low voice, not looking at me.

"I don't care." Had I done something wrong?

"I am not the Princess. You should leave me alone."

"No!"

"Why not?" Now she turned to look at me and I involuntarily caught my breath, both at her beauty and at her bleak expression. "I am a _servant_, your highness. It is wrong for you to be seen with me." She looked away and closed her eyes for a moment. "I shouldn't've come tonight."

I was suddenly angry with a fiery warmth as if I'd drunk a whole glassful of wine in one go. "Then why did you?"

Her eyes went to mine for a moment and then she turned away from me again and I was left staring at her back, tensed for her answer. There was a moment of silence.

"Leave me alone."

"I won't," I growled.

"Your Princess is waiting for you."

My anger boiled over. Grabbing her shoulder, I spun her round and shook her fiercely, my jaw tight with the force of my emotion. "Can't you see I don't give a damn about the Princess? I love YOU!" I took a shuddering breath and repeated more gently, "I love _you_." It was the first time I'd said it, even in my thoughts, but I knew as the words left my mouth that I'd never said anything truer. I loved her.

She was shivering harder now under my hands and her eyes shone with unshed tears. "No. You can't love me."

"Why not?" I said through clenched teeth.

"Because I am nothing but a servant girl and you are betrothed to somebody else." My anger began to drain away at the pain in her eyes. "_I am not Elena_."

My turn to shiver now, but I was determined to make her understand. "Maybe not, but that girl in there – she isn't either. She's changed. She's not the girl I grew up with. But _you_ – you are everything I ever wanted or needed, you belong with me, you…" My voice broke. "Tell me you love me," I demanded, my voice unable to rise above a whisper.

"What?" Her green eyes were wide with shock.

"Tell me you love me," I repeated.

"No!"

"Fine." I was angry again. "Tell me you don't love me."

There was a tense silence. "I –" she stammered.

"_Tell me you don't love me_."

She struggled to reply. "Your highness, I –"

"Callum. My name is Callum." My eyes snapped at her. It said much for her loss of self-control that she allowed the correction to pass.

"Callum, I… this isn't right, it can't be…"

But I wasn't listening to her. All I knew was that she had said my name, softly and more tenderly than I deserved, and that a single tear had escaped her and hung on her eyelashes. Abruptly, my arms were around her, holding her slender form close to me, and without stopping to think, I bent my head and kissed her.

HELEN

It was the gentleness of his kiss that unbalanced me. His anger, childish and stubborn, I could handle. But I was unprepared for the softness of his lips on mine, the warmth of his arms around me, the vulnerability of his closed eyes. My eyes closed without my permission and my hands crept up to clasp his warm neck. He stopped kissing me for a moment to take my face in his brown hands and whisper, "You're not leaving me. I won't let you."

Then he was kissing me again, more roughly than before, but still with a tenderness and warmth I had never encountered and which turned my world upside down and made me kiss him back as if I, too, would never let him go.

When he finally released me, we stared at each other for an endless moment. I fixed his face in my mind: his dark skin, strong eyebrows, straight nose and deep black eyes. I already knew it by heart. He wiped a tear off my cheek.

"Why are you crying?"

I shook my head. How could I tell him? How could I tell him that I had finally admitted it to myself, finally realised that my world would never be the same? How could I tell him that I knew I loved him even though we could never be together?

He held me close and let me cry on his chest, stroking my hair, and he whispered in my ear: "I love you."

The words had a strange effect on me, a slow but nonetheless irrevocable change wrought in my soul. It was as if until now my heart had been a room: an empty, cold, and darkened room, but now a spark appeared – a tiny glimmer of light that grew to the steady, clear flame of a candle. And in its light, I saw… began to see…

"Callum," I said, quietly, in disbelief. And then louder, "Callum!" The flame was growing stronger now, and I could feel its warmth spreading through me. It was a fire, burning straight and true, revealing everything that was hidden, that I had thought lost. In that instant, I knew everything. I knew who I was, who he was. I remembered: his face as he climbed the tree; our silly childhood games; our first kiss; our first dance.

I lifted my face to his. Surely he could see that I was lit up from within with love for him, that I had remembered everything and that we no longer had anything to fear. I was Elena – the true Elena. The ramifications of that knowledge I did not yet consider. All I knew was that I had found my Callum, and he was holding me tight.

"What is it, darling?" he asked gently, smiling down at me. He was so beautiful. He would be overjoyed at this news.

"I – " I began, but his lips were on mine again and somehow I didn't want to keep talking. It was some time before I could summon up the willpower to push him away. "Stop it," I said breathlessly. "I have something to say – "

He wasn't listening. He put a hand on both of my shoulders. "Helen, stay here," he said. "I have to go and do something very important. But I'll be back in a moment, I promise. Just wait for me, all right?"

"All right," I whispered happily. The moment of revelation could wait. After all, we had the rest of our lives together. He kissed me again, pulled away, came back and folded me in his arms.

"You're too hard to leave," he said with a note of amused annoyance in his voice, his face buried in my hair. "Right, this time I'm actually going." He kissed me on the forehead and went back inside. I turned back to the balcony rail, resting my elbows on it with my chin propped on my hands. Looking out into the summer night, which so short a time ago had seemed full of danger and despair, I smiled. Everything was going to be all right.


	34. Chapter 34

CALLUM

My heart was jumping in my chest as I ran back to the crowded ballroom. Fortunately, this time no one noticed my entrance; everyone was too busy dancing or discussing my tempestuous exit in pursuit of the mystery guest. I landed in front of my father, my breathing ragged.

"Father," I puffed, "I need to speak with you… now. Please."

"Callum, what is going on?" His face was so disapproving that I almost changed my mind, but this was too important to let go of.

"I'll explain in a minute, I'll apologise, I'll do whatever you want me to, just please let me talk to you a moment." My mother was listening. Her face was pained and I felt a pang of guilt at the anguish I was probably putting them through. Elena's parents were very close to them, and judging from the way they were whispering angrily to each other, they were furious with both me and my parents for treating Elena so badly. "Please," I said again and my father relented.

"All right. Five minutes." We slipped out of the room once more and into the nearest empty one, which happened to be the library. "What is it, Callum?"

"I need you to release me from my betrothal with Elena," I said eagerly, my words coming out so fast that I nearly stumbled over them.

I had expected a shocked reaction, but I did not get one. Instead my father sank into a chair with a groan. "No, Callum, no! Why are you doing this to me?"

"You don't understand. I'm in love." Even in the heat of the situation I smiled as I said the words.

"With Helen, I suppose."

"Of course. Who else? I know it will be difficult to break off the betrothal, but you still have Marcus and Lydia to keep the bonds between Nabol and Tanezia – and I promise I'll make the deepest apologies to them and make it up to them in any way possible…" I faltered at the look on my father's face.

"Callum, I cannot allow this."

"W-what?" I was so surprised that I stammered. He got up and made an angry gesture.

"Don't you see? This is preposterous. Helen is a servant, and you are the heir to a kingdom. Elena is meant for you and always has been – you mourned her for years, boy! And now you turn round and have the gall to say that you don't want her?"

"Father, I love Helen. Isn't that what counts?"

"Love isn't everything," he shot back. I stared at him in horror.

"But you married for love."

"Yes, and look how I've paid!" he cried.

"What do you mean?"

"Look. I love your mother very much. But marrying her had implications that back then I never would have dreamed of. You know about Thomas' uprising. People died because I made a decision out of love instead of logic. Even now many of my subjects do not trust me the way they would if I had been a stronger man then."

"But you were eighteen," I argued. "You were so young. Of course you were not as strong as you are now."

"All I'm saying, son, is that love carries a high price, and this love comes at the expense of a broken heart for Elena – and her parents may never forgive us."

"Tell me it's better to be with the one you love than to choose duty over them. Tell me it's better that way."

My father was silent, and I could feel my heart shrink within me. This wasn't how things were supposed to go. He was supposed to give me his blessing, not a lecture.

"I love your mother," he said at last. "And even if I had the choice again now, I would not choose any differently. But a King has responsibilities other than to himself. I am asking you to consider that, my son, and not to make a foolish decision." He placed a hand on my shoulder and looked into my face, and his blue eyes had a depth of sympathy within them that had not been in his words. "I'm sorry."

When he left I stood there for longer than I should have done, trying to understand what he had meant. My exuberant mood had shattered and I was left trying to pick up the pieces. What should I do now? I knew what I wanted to do – I wanted to take Helen and run far, far away to where we could start a new life together and live carefree and happy. But I couldn't leave my parents, and I couldn't leave Elena without at least apologising to her. My mind spun. I couldn't see a way out of this mess.

First things first. I had to go and talk to Helen. She was waiting for me. Perhaps she, with typical practicality, would have a suggestion of some kind. She loved me; I knew it, though she had not said so. She could not have kissed me like that and not loved me. We would work something out.

This time as I walked down the corridors to the balcony where I'd left her, my footsteps were slow and my heart heavy. It was funny, how everything could change in a heartbeat. But I knew that as long as I could pull her in and hold her close, as long as I could kiss her sweet face and hear her laugh, I would feel all right, and my pace sped up again as I neared my destination. Then I stopped in confusion.

The balcony was empty. Helen had gone. Where could she have got to? I turned to go, not yet understanding, and that was when something sparkled in the moonlight and caught my eye. There, on the rail, one glass shoe. And beside it, a single snowdrop.

As if from a great distance, I heard the clock strike twelve.

**A/N: Sorry that this is another cliffhanger. If I have time to get writing in the next two days I'll upload again, but I'm off to Rome for a week so things are very hectic! In reparation for not posting for a week, I'll write loads while I'm away and put it all up when I'm back again.**

**I've said it before and I'll say it again: thank you so much for reviewing. I've been really down lately cos my boyfriend has moved to Australia and writing this, and hearing from you guys, has really kept me going. Hope you enjoy! xxx**


	35. Chapter 35

**So, finally back from Roma, which was AMAZING! And have a couple of chapters in reserve, so I'll be updating soon I hope. Thanks for reviews! **

ELENA

As I stared out into the palace gardens, still smiling and still feeling the touch of Callum's lips on mine, a noise behind me made me start. Turning, I gave a quiet "Oh." Elena was standing there.

No, not Elena. _I _was Elena. Suddenly, my thoughts were whirling. If I was Elena, who was she? Why hadn't I realised what a question she posed? As I stared at her, all the pieces began to fall into place. I remembered – oh, the simple joy in being able to say that! – Hannah (_Hannah_! How could I have forgotten Hannah?) talking to me in my cell, back before the accident that had caused me to lose my memory.

"_She is the daughter of a witch; an enchantress. She can change her features to become anybody she pleases. And when she has become you, Callum will be entirely in our power. Once they are married, she will find a way to become Queen, and then she and the rightful King, Thomas, will rule as they should." _

Everything was spinning around me. This was the witch's daughter, standing opposite me with that cruel little smile on her face. And she was going to kill Callum.

"So you broke the curse," she said conversationally. "I'm surprised it took this long."

"What curse?" This was so unexpected that I could do nothing but stand there, mouth open. "There was a curse?"

She rolled her eyes and made a show of studying her immaculate fingernails. It was odd how much she looked like me. And she looked like the old me – the Elena who had been pampered and spoilt, not Helen who had had to work hard each and every day for a living and who had next to nothing to call her own. Even as I marvelled, however, she was changing. Her hair became even darker, turning black, and her features rearranged themselves to become what I assumed was her true self. She had a sharp, ruthless face, and it revealed her true age, which I judged to be far over her thirtieth year. The incongruity of her beautiful dress contrasted with her sly features would have been almost funny if I hadn't been so far from laughing. "Of course there was a curse." She sounded different as well. "Do you really think that you wouldn't have regained your memories naturally once you'd begun to recover from your fever? I knew you were still alive. The others hoped you had died in the fire, but I knew better. I searched for you for a long time, and finally I found you. The spell I cast should have been enough to keep you there, in that pathetic little village you called home, but it seems I was wrong. Unfortunately, there is a loophole even in the most elegant curse." She pursed up her mouth in disgust. "I believe the official term for it is _True Love's Kiss_. Disgusting. I suppose I should have seen this coming, but it amused me to watch you try and win his heart. Ah, well, you did your best."

I was reeling from this discovery, but I squared my shoulders and gathered my courage. "Yes, the curse is broken, and you have lost," I told her. "Get away from Callum, and stay away. He belongs to me."

She laughed, and the sound gave me shivers along my spine. "Oh, how sweet. You really think you have won. Enjoy the taste of victory, little princess, while you have it… because it will last approximately five more minutes."

"What do you mean?" I was frightened now, more so even than I had been when Thomas had locked me up in that cell. It was gradually dawning on me that I had no weapon whatsoever against the witch.

"Well sweetheart. You don't really think we're going to give up this easily, do you? We've been wanting this a long time, Thomas and I. Trust me, you are nothing but a minor setback, and it will be easier than batting away a fly to get you out of the picture. And then all I have to do is wait until your birthday, and the day you turn twenty, and my marriage with the gorgeous Callum will be celebrated. He _is_ gorgeous, isn't he? I know I'm supposed to control him and kill him and all that, but you know, I might put that off for a while and have some fun while I'm at it. Can't you just picture our wedding night?" She was laughing at the look on my face, and I lost it.

"Leave him alone!" I screamed, and I launched myself at her. I don't really know what I was hoping to accomplish, but she merely flicked her hand at me and I froze, arms outstretched, one foot in mid-air. She was laughing so hard that it took her a while to get her breath back.

"Oh, what fun this has been. You know, I'm almost tempted to leave your memory intact this time. It would be so entertaining to know that your little heart was breaking as you thought of your darling Callum going to his doom. But that might inspire you to call off the wedding, and I really wouldn't like that, so… kiss goodbye to your memories once more, little princess. It's back to being a scullery maid for you." She blew me a kiss, and everything went black.

HELEN

"_Why are you crying?" he'd asked me._

_I had shaken my head. How could I tell him? How could I tell him that I had finally admitted it to myself, finally realised that my world would never be the same? How could I tell him that I knew I loved him even though we could never be together?_

_He held me close and let me cry on his chest, stroking my hair, and he whispered in my ear: "I love you." _

_I had wanted to say it back but I couldn't, I couldn't bring myself to speak the truth when it would only lead to more pain for the both of us. "Callum…" I began, planning somehow to tell him that this would never work, that we should stay apart before it got too far, but he interrupted me. _

"_Helen, stay here," he said. "I have to go and do something very important. But I'll be back in a moment, I promise. Just wait for me, all right?"_

"_All right," I sniffed. I could do that, couldn't I? And then I'd tell him, when he came back. Yes. That was what I would do._

The summer night was warm, but I shivered without the comfort of his arms around me. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe this thing between us could work out. After all, stranger things had happened…

But even as I was thinking it, I knew it was a futile hope. I could not ask him to betray Elena for me. Whether he loved me or not, he loved her more, had loved her for longer. And she was betrothed to him. There was no way that the wishes of a servant could take precedence over those of a princess.

I started crying when I realised what my only option was. I fought with myself, argued desperately that maybe I was wrong and maybe I could stay. But in the end I knew what I had to do. Tears streaming down my face, I bent down and took off my glass shoes. One of my tears dropped onto them as I stared at them, and shone there like a diamond. I was going to leave the pair, but ultimately I couldn't bear to part with both of them, so I simply left one on the balcony. Then, as an afterthought, I unpinned the snowdrop – still perfectly fresh – and laid it gently beside the shoe.

It was the work of moments to go back to the servants' quarters and take off all my finery. Fortunately no one was there; they were either working in the kitchen, or sneaking glances at the ball and trading gossip. I would have left a note, but I had no paper, and anyway I knew Annie would understand. Folding the dress into a neat pile, I carefully placed it on her bed along with the earrings, shawl, and as many of the pearls as I could claw out of my hair. Then I changed out of my maid's uniform and into the old dress I'd been wearing when I arrived at the palace, gathered the meagre bundle of my possessions including the shoe, and left. I allowed myself one last look back at the palace as I slipped through the servants' gate: the windows all lit up, and people dancing, talking, laughing, eating. The clock struck twelve, and I turned and walked away.

CALLUM

I don't like to think about the remainder of that night. I think I went a little mad. Whenever I try to remember it, all I see is a blur of faces and people, some sympathetic, most disapproving, others downright angry. The ball was still going and I had to at least perform some semblance of my duty, so I danced with pretty girls whose faces all merged into one eventually, made polite conversation with court ladies and gentlemen, apologised to Elena's parents for my strange actions, and danced several more dances with Elena. I had expected her to be upset – the old Elena surely would have screamed at me and blackmailed me into an apology – but instead she just smiled and chatted and was as sweet as honey. Her conversations ,were full of do-you-remembers. Did I remember the first time that she had gatecrashed this midsummer ball? Of course I did. Marcus and I had been sixteen and rather proud of being allowed to be adults for the first time; but though we never would have admitted it, the ball was intensely boring until Elena somehow got in without her parents noticing and proceeded to play a series of pranks on her father's advisors – switching drinks and plates and the like. Then the following year she'd been strictly banned from the festivities, and had spent the entire evening with her nose pressed up against one of the windows, begging us to sneak her titbits to eat – which of course I did. The memories did make me laugh, but no matter how interesting her conversation was I couldn't fully concentrate on it. Where had Helen gone? What if I never saw her again? The very thought was unbearable.

Finally, _finally_, the evening was over and I could collapse in my rooms, alone. I couldn't be near anybody else right now. The night of Elena's disappearance had been like this – this sick panic, deep in my gut, this inability to concentrate, this longing to break and tear things if it could help with the agony of knowing she was gone. And yet in some ways this was worse. Helen had left me voluntarily, I was sure of it. She hadn't been kidnapped – she had just walked out on me. How could she? How could she abandon me?

I yelled in frustration and kicked the object nearest to me, which happened to be my bedstead. It was made of oak, and though I may have scuffed the wood slightly the ensuing pain in my toe was more than enough revenge for that. I sat on the bed and clutched my foot, waiting for the pain to die. When it did I felt defeated. I might as well go to bed. There was nothing else I could do.


	36. Chapter 36

**To cheer you up, here is possibly my favourite chapter ever! xD**

CALLUM

The following morning found me sitting on my balcony, hollow-eyed. I'd got about an hour of sleep, and a restless one at that. All night I'd racked my brains about how to find her. But short of having my father's men search every village in Nabol and Falecia, I could think of nothing. I didn't even know where her home was. Somehow I'd never got around to asking for the specific address.

Eventually I decided that I had better go and spend the morning with my father, as I'd fallen into the habit of doing lately. It meant that I could avoid seeing Elena until lunch at least, and sometimes not even then if she and Lydia had gone to town or for a quiet ride. I was feeling more and more guilty of the way I thought of her – as an annoyance more than anything else; yet the conviction of which I'd spoken to Helen grew stronger by the minute. Elena had changed. True, that was perhaps to be expected after the trauma of being kept prisoner for so long; but she was not the girl I used to know, and I did not love her any more. Feelings of some kind there were: I could not deny that. She was my first love, after all. But no matter how hard I tried I could not summon up half of the depth of feeling I had for Helen.

My father looked almost as tired as I did, but he did not say anything about the night before, for which I was exceedingly grateful. For a few hours I found a blessed relief in pretending that everything was as it had been, and burying myself in work. We had a lot to do and when the clock struck one, we decided to get one of the servants to bring in a tray of food rather than to go and eat in the dining room so that we didn't have to interrupt our business. There was an odd feeling of companionship in sharing this impromptu picnic in my father's study, a sense of camaraderie that I'd never really felt before with him, though we rarely spoke and when we did it was purely of practical matters. Perhaps he was finally seeing me as a man, not just a boy.

When a servant knocked on the door, I assumed that it was someone to pick up the tray, so I yelled for them to come in. But it was a different maid, and she was looking a little frightened.

"Beggin' your pardon, your highness," she said with a strong local accent, "but there's a man here to see you and he won't take no for an answer. He's frightenin' all the servants, your highness. We don't know what to do."

"A man?" Sometimes when people really wanted a favour from the King they'd go to ridiculous lengths to secure an audience with him – but that couldn't be it because I was the Prince, not King. I exchanged a glance with my father and he shrugged, seeming to imply that I could do no harm to find out. "All right, send him in."

"Thank you," she said in a rush, bobbing a curtsey. "He's – "

The door slammed open and someone who was clearly in a furious mood entered. He was of average height, strongly built, with blond hair and very blue eyes that at this moment were narrowed in anger. He was carrying a large wooden staff, making me wonder if he was a shepherd or something. For a moment he stood there, looking from me to my father, then he made his conclusion and marched over to my chair. I hastily stood up, not liking to feel disadvantaged, and I felt a tiny sense of satisfaction when he realised how tall I was. Nothing deterred, however, he put his hands on his hips and began.

"_Where is she?_ What have you done to her? If she's hurt – or lost – "

The maid gave a terrified squeak and fled the room, evidently afraid she'd be blamed for letting this madman in.

"Slow down!" I said sharply. "Who are you talking about?" But even as I said it, it suddenly came to me just who he was.

"Helen, of course! I've walked for days to get here, and when I finally arrive it's to be told that she's not here – she's left. Where is she? Nobody knows! And if I find out that you had something to do with it I'll kill you, I don't care if you _are_ a crown prince – "

He doubled his fists and glared at me, and while I didn't care for his tone I understood his anguish. "Father, will you excuse us for a moment?" I said politely, quietly reminding my visitor that he was in the presence of a king. He reddened slightly, but made no other sign of recognition. My father raised an eyebrow at me, asking whether I thought it was safe to be alone with him, but I nodded. I was reasonably sure that he wouldn't attack me – though if he did I wondered if I'd be able to best him.

"This way, please." I led the way into the small room next door, and turned to face him. "I take it you are George?"

"Who else would I be?" He was edgy, feeling the contrast of my expensive clothes and the beautiful surroundings with his patched trousers and worn shirt.

"Nice to finally meet you."

"Drop the gentleman act," he spat. "Where's Helen?"

"She wrote to you?" I wouldn't admit how that made me feel a sting of jealousy. Was George the one she had wanted to go to for comforting?

"Yes, she told me she'd had enough and she wanted to go home. I got here this morning and asked after her at the servants' door and they told me she'd left – no explanation. So I went to her Aunt Lynne to see if she had gone there for the night – no, they'd not heard from her for a good few weeks. Where is she? And why has she gone? I know you had something to do with it."

"Why do you keep saying that?" I didn't like how possessive his tone was when he spoke of Helen. She was _mine_.

"Because she wrote to her parents all about you. Oh, she never said anything improper, I can assure you that. But it was all 'the prince said this' and 'the prince did that'. I knew you'd be trouble. What have you done to her?" His voice rose almost to a shout.

"Nothing! She left of her own accord," I snapped, the pain of her departure suddenly returning. "She didn't even say goodbye to me. She left me a _shoe_."

"She what?"

"Never mind." I sighed. "I don't know where she's gone. But I don't think she'll come back."

George raised both hands to his head and rubbed his forehead. "She must have gone home. It's the only place she knows."

"But why didn't she wait for you?"

He gave me a look that clearly stated his dislike for me. "You don't know her at all, do you?"

I tensed. "Don't give me that. I know her better than you can imagine."

"Is that so? Have you lived with her for four years?" Damn, he had me there.

"No, but I've slept in her bed," I shot back, and immediately wished I hadn't: his face turned brick red.

"You _what_?"

I stepped back, slightly panicked. "Stop, wait, that came out wrong. Nothing… nothing happened. She just had nightmares."

He'd stayed where he was, but he was clearly itching to get his hands round my throat. To be honest I didn't blame him. But that didn't stop me from feeling ever so slightly smug at having one-upped him.

"And I suppose she kissed _you_, too," he ground out.

"That's none of your business," I returned, and then realised what his implication was. "You've kissed her?"

"None of _your_ business," and he gave me a tight smile. I was starting to feel extremely aggravated, and however hard I tried to hold onto the fact that Helen had danced with _me,_ had kissed _me_, had cried on _my _shoulder, I couldn't stop picturing her doing all the same with this country bumpkin. "Such a typical royal brat," he was muttering, and I clenched my jaw.

"Excuse me?" I said with overly exaggerated politeness.

"You don't even care, do you?" He turned back to me with a fierce light in his eye. "You've had your fun with her and now you've decided to drop her and she's gone but you don't even care if she gets lost, or hurt…"

I crossed the distance between us in two swift steps and pushed him back against a wall. A tiny part of the back of my brain was screaming at me to retain my royal dignity, but the rest of me was only aware of what he had said. For the first time, he looked a little unsure of himself as I towered over him. "Don't you say that," I growled. "Don't you _dare_ say that. I care more for Helen than you can possibly dream of, _farmer boy_."

"Oh really?" He stuck up his chin, insolently. "Then why did she run away from you?"

I dropped my hands and turned away, frustrated. "I don't know, all right?" I exclaimed. "I told her I loved her, and she left me!"

There was an awkward silence. I half-expected him to hit me, but to my surprise he sighed, walked over to me, and clapped me on the shoulder. "I've been there," he admitted. "She did the same to me."  
I looked up, not sure whether this was comforting or otherwise. "She did?"

"Aye, she did." He twisted his mouth ruefully. "Poor Helen. She's had a lot to deal with. No wonder she didn't wait for me."

"What do you mean?"

"Helen always wants to do what's right, and she hates hurting people. But she gets frightened easily, and when she does her instinct is to run away. Let me guess. She told you she couldn't love you because you're a prince and she's not a princess?"

"Something like that."

"It sounds like her." He thought for a moment. "Well, I don't know what we should do next, but our first priority is obvious. We need to find her."

I nodded. "I know, but I don't know where she lives or which way she would've gone."

"I do. The quickest way to the border is through the Mydan Forest. I came through it myself a couple of days ago. Nasty place." He was trying to be casual, but I could see the worry in his eyes, and I myself felt a clutch of panic again.

"The Mydan Forest? But that's crawling with bandits! She'll never be safe on her own…"

"Aye," he agreed with me. "That forest is no place for a girl by herself."

"Then we have to go – _now_ – who knows what could happen to her?" I was frantic, trying not to imagine the million ways in which she could have met her death by now.

George nodded. Then, to my astonishment, he stuck out his hand. I stared at it stupidly. "Truce?" he said simply, with a grin. "Til we find her, at least."

I felt a new-found respect creeping over me. He was a good man – I could see that, however much his presence annoyed me. "Truce," I said, accepting his handshake.

"Right. You got a horse?"

"Two of them."

My father was none too pleased with my announcement that I was going out for a ride and would be back by tonight; but he didn't try to stop me. I guessed that either he had an idea of what I was planning to do, or that he just felt I needed time alone. George and I set off as soon as we could saddle up two of the palace horses.

We rode for hours. It was exhausting, but neither of us spoke: probably George was as preoccupied as I was by Helen's safety. Whenever we passed anyone on the road we'd ask if they'd seen a girl of Helen's description, but no one could give us any information. As the hours passed and the sun began to set, fear gripped me ever tighter until I could barely breathe. Where was she? I just wanted to hold her again and tell her to never leave me.

At last we reached the fringes of the forest, where a large, comfortable looking house was snugly settled among the trees. "What's that?" I asked, and George brought his horse to a standstill and dismounted.

"It's an inn. 'The Traveller's Rest'. I stayed there two nights ago. Likely Helen did too."

"We'd better ask, then."

"Aye. Come on."

The innkeeper was a large, motherly-looking woman who greeted George with a smile. "Come back for more, 'ave you?" she said with a chuckle.

"Not exactly," I said before George could reply. Her eyes turned to me and she gasped.

"Your 'ighness! What an unexpected pleasure – I apologise for not bein' ready – "

"Not at all," I brushed her protestations aside: "We are here for information only. Have you seen a girl?"

"Short, long dark hair, big green eyes," put in George.

"In a hurry. Frightened?"

She looked from one to the other of us and her eyes widened. "Well, yes, I 'ave. She slept over, last night…"

I resisted the urge to grab her fat shoulders and shake the story out of her. "What happened?"

"She turned up real late. Lucky she caught me – I was dozin' in front of the fire. She was all eyes – looked terrified, poor thing. Says she needs a place to sleep but she only 'as a piece of silver. Well, I don't usually do this, but I felt sorry for 'er, I did, so I says no problem, you can stay and no questions asked. She reminded me a bit of my daughter," she added pensively. "Anyway, she left early. I didn't want 'er to. Told 'er over and over, there's been bandits pickin' on unwary travellers, and anyone on their own is either foolhardy or just plain stupid. But she wouldn't listen. So she's gone. I 'ope she's all right. Pretty little thing she was."

George and I wasted no more words. "Thank you," I got out, and then we were running back to the horses and urging them to a gallop, all the time knowing that we could be too late.


	37. Chapter 37

HELEN

I should have gone to stay with my aunt.

It was the most prevalent thought in my mind as I hurried down the road. I had been stupid, impulsive and worse, illogical. I knew that this road was dangerous – it certainly felt dangerous with the trees hemming me in and only the occasional bird call to break the ominous silence. So why hadn't I gone to Aunt Lynne's and waited for George? Because I was stupid, that's why. And perhaps because a small part of me even wished that I could be murdered by thugs. That way the aching of my broken heart would be stilled.

No, I wouldn't think that. I would think about home, where I was headed. Home, where my mother would probably be cooking dinner by now and going out to feed the chickens. Home where Bobby would be playing with his toys but jump up when I called him and beg me to tell him a story. Home where my father would come in and chuck me under the chin and say I was a pretty snowdrop today… My eyes filled with tears, blurring my vision. I wanted to be there _now_. I just wanted to forget everything that had happened since I'd left home.

A twig snapped behind me and I whirled round, startled, heart racing. Nothing. I forced myself to continue walking despite the fact that I was sure I felt eyes on me. I hadn't met anyone all day – which was unusual, according to the innkeeper; she'd let me go after I'd promised to stick with anyone I met on the road. In a way, I was glad that I was alone. I somehow didn't think that I'd be great company right now. But on the other hand I kept thinking of George getting to the palace and finding me gone, and wishing I'd waited for him. Well, I wasn't about to turn round now and go back. I'd made my choice.

I suddenly had a crazy idea. Why shouldn't I sing to give myself courage? No one was around to hear. And if I didn't hear something other than silence soon I'd go mad. I started singing 'The Innkeeper's Wife', which had a repetitive chorus and a strong beat, and found that it made me walk faster and more confidently. Soon I was enjoying myself and running through every song I knew. When an hour had passed, my throat was beginning to dry, so I paused after 'Meet Me in the Orchard, Love' to find my water bottle and take a drink. I closed my eyes as the cool water soothed my throat. _Not much longer now_, I thought with triumph. _Another half hour, and I'll be through the forest, and with a tale to tell of my bravery._ I opened my eyes, and immediately wished I hadn't.

I was surrounded by men. At first glance there seemed to be hundreds of them, but after a second or two I realised that I had exaggerated; there were only five. They had a ragged, hungry appearance, and all of them were brandishing weapons of some kind – knives and daggers. My entire body went numb with fear. I stared at them dumbly.

"Don't stop singing, pretty lady," one of them said. He seemed to be the leader; the others looked at him when he spoke and added a chorus of "Aye, girly, sing," and "Nice voice, eh?"

"Thank you…" I said tremulously, pulling my cloak closer around me instinctively. "But I need to get home. I'm late for dinner." It was the only excuse I could come up with, and it seemed rather pathetic.

"Ah, come on," grinned the man who'd spoken first. "Stay and keep us company for a bit." He winked, and tested the point of his knife against his finger.

"No, _thank you_," I said firmly, and I made as if to go. Instantly, at a gesture from the leader, two men blocked my path. They were smiling, but not pleasantly. I lost my temper. "Let me go!" I cried, and kicking one very hard where it should hurt, I dodged the other's hands and made a run for it.

I did not get very far.

One of the men was faster than the others, and he made a grab for me. I swerved, but he'd caught hold of the shoulder of my dress, and with a sickening _rip_ it tore right down the seam. The action jerked me back, and I lost my balance and fell. Scrambling up, I came face to face with all five of them, grinning at me.

"Methinks this pretty princess needs to be taught some manners," sneered the leader as I desperately scrabbled around for my cloak, trying to cover myself. "What do you think, boys?" Cue a refrain of "Aye" and "Go on!"

"I'm not a princess," I said frantically. "I'm just a servant. I don't have any money to give you. Please, just let me go." I held out my empty hands to show them that I really didn't have anything else with me. _Please don't let them take my shoe. Or my necklace… _I hoped that the bundle of clothes on my back looked inconspicuous enough that they wouldn't search it, but I knew even as the thought crossed my mind that it was a vain hope.

A faint sound in the distance made me prick up my ears. Was that hoofbeats I could hear? Maybe I could get out of this if I just kept them occupied long enough not to hear whoever was approaching… My train of thought was broken as the leader grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled me so close to him that I could smell his breath, and I winced from the pain in my scalp. "Not a princess, hmm? Look at that face, boys. Does this look like a servant's face?" He turned me round so that I had to look at the rest of the bandits, and I shrank back. They stared back at me, their eyes full of danger. "Look at those pretty green eyes and all this hair. You say you got no money?"

I shook my head, unable to speak. My breathing was accelerated and my heart was beating so fast that I thought I might faint. I had never been so terrified, not even when faced by the witch. In those men's eyes I could read what might happen to me, and it was a fate worse than death. I longed uselessly for Callum. The hoofbeats had stopped. I must have been imagining them.

"Well then, there are other ways to pay us," grinned the leader, and he let go of my hair and pushed me away from him so hard that I fell over again and cried out as my arm twisted beneath me. I looked up at them all around me, searching for one spark of kindness, one glint of humanity, and not finding either. This was it.

"Step away from her." The voice came from behind the men, and was almost too quiet to hear, but burned with so much fury that they actually obeyed it. I turned, and gasped.

Callum and George were there, together, and they looked angrier than I'd ever seen either of them. George was gripping his staff, which I knew from past experience could fell a man, and Callum had drawn his sword. "If you so much as touch her again, I swear I will make you pay for it," he spat.

There was a tense silence as the five men sized up their two opponents. My heart was in my mouth. What if the unthinkable happened and Callum was hurt? I racked my brains for a way to prevent them fighting, but I was too late. One of the men seized his chance and threw his dagger at Callum, aiming for the head. I shrieked, but Callum had quick reflexes and had ducked. The dagger hit a tree and fell to the ground, point buried in the dirt.

"You missed," he said pleasantly to the man. "Anyone else like a go?" And suddenly they were fighting and I was sitting there on the ground, unable to move an inch for fear of being spitted on a knife, wondering if this was real or just some horrific nightmare.

It was over quickly. George had knocked out two of the men with blows to the head, and Callum had injured the leader in the arm and given another man a scratch across the side that would be with him for the rest of his life. Those still on their feet backed away, and then ran for it.

George spared a disgusted glance for the men out cold on the floor, and dragged them to the side of the road. Meanwhile Callum had bodily lifted me off the ground and was interrogating me to make sure that I was alive, checking me all over for a sign of harm.

"I'm fine, your highness, I just sprained my wrist," I said defeatedly. Typical that the very man I'd been running from had been my salvation. "You can let me go now."

"Let you go?" His grip on my shoulders became painfully tight. "Are you stupid?"

"No – " I managed. "Stop – shaking me!"

"You are not. Getting. Away. Again." A shake for every word. "Do you hear me? Helen, I'm not letting you go."

"No!" I cried.

"No what?"

"No!" I reiterated, though not exactly sure myself of what I meant. "Just no! I can't!" And to my abject humiliation, I burst into tears.

Here George intervened. "Put her down, you idiot," he said bluntly. "Can't you see she doesn't want you to touch her?"

Callum released me in order to turn to George, boiling with anger. "She doesn't know what she wants. She's been through a traumatic experience."

"Yes I do!" I sobbed before George could say anything further and Callum be provoked into punching him or something equally ridiculous. "And I want you to leave me alone!"

He looked at me and his dark eyes were so full of hurt that I could feel my heart breaking all over again. But I had to do this. I had to say goodbye. "Helen, please," he said, and suddenly he was no longer a brave warrior but just a boy, begging me not to do this to him. "I thought… I thought we were through with this. I _love_ you." His voice broke on the word.

I was shaking my head, and tears coursed freely down my cheeks and soaked my dress. "I can't. I can't do this. We both know how it ends. You have your duty to Elena, and I have to return to my family. It's the only way. Don't you see that?"

"No! I don't!" he shouted. "All I know is that I love you, and you're leaving me! How can you do this?"

"I can't be the one to make you break your betrothal," I said desperately. "I just can't be that person. It's all wrong. I have to go home. George will take care of me."

His shoulders slumped, and I knew that he had understood. "Please," he whispered brokenly. I shook my head.

"No."

He closed the space between us with a step, and wrapped his arms round me so tightly I could barely breathe. "Please," he said again, but when I didn't answer I could feel him shaking.

"I'm sorry," I whispered.

I don't know how long we stood there. George had tactfully turned away and was tending to the horses. I wondered for a moment how difficult this was for him, but turned my attention back to Callum. "I promise I'll never forget you," I whispered. My mind was going, _remember this. Remember how this feels. Remember the warmth of his arms and the smell of his neck and the brown of his eyes. You'll wish yourself back in this moment a million times._ I was crying so hard that I could barely speak, but I went on. "Marry Elena. It's your duty, and you loved her once even if you don't now. You can love her again – "

"Not like you," he said eagerly. "Not the way I feel for you – not the way I love you."

I didn't have an answer for that. I just clutched him tightly. And into his chest I murmured the words that I'd never say aloud to him. _I love you._ Then I stepped up on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

Letting go was the hardest thing I'd ever done, but I did it. And by the time I could see again, I was on a horse behind George, watching as behind me the prince of Nabol dwindled to a tiny figure in the distance.


	38. Chapter 38

**Short chapter this time, and I'm sad to say that we are drawing very near the end, so not many more to go! Thanks as always to my reviewers, you still make my day :) my inspiration always slightly fails me towards the end of a story, so updates are slower - apologies. **

CALLUM

When I returned to the palace, no one dared even talk to me for about a week, except Elena who either was trying to be tactful (and failing slightly), or just didn't realise what was going on. She had been told, of course, about Helen, but she was under the impression that she had just been a servant girl in a mix-up, and that that was all there was to the situation. It took every ounce of diplomacy I possessed not to shout at her pretty much every time she popped up around me and began to go on about our wedding and how many children we'd have; but I managed somehow. After all, if I was to do my duty and marry her, I had to be able to get along with her.

And marry her I must. I had come to this conclusion reluctantly, but at the moment I could see no other way out – not unless I wanted to cause a huge amount of tension between Tanezia and Nabol, and worry my parents even more than they already were. And Helen had made her choice clear. I wondered if she ever had cared about me, or if it had all been an act. But then I would remember our first kiss and know without a doubt that her feelings for me were not the problem.

Time passed. I got used the situation; I got used to the aching hole somewhere in the region of my chest where Helen belonged. A few weeks after our goodbye, the horse had been returned to the palace along with a letter addressed to me in shaky but legible writing:

_**She's safe and home. I promise I'll take care of her. Thanks for the horse. George.**_

Then, as if by an afterthought: _**Good luck**_.

I had mixed feelings about this. I knew that the sentiment behind the note was good: George felt sorry for me and was trying to express his sympathy. But seeing Helen choose him over me, knowing that he at this very moment could be in her presence, could watch her and laugh with her and hold her close when she cried – watching Helen disappear with him had been like having my heart sawn in two with a rusty knife. And at night pictures of the two of them would torment me. I imagined George proposing to her (again?) and her accepting; I imagined a pretty village wedding, with flower garlands and church bells, Helen dressed in white and with daisies in her dark curls; I saw their children, blonde and hardy and good-looking. It was stupid, but I couldn't keep the images out of my head.

Soon, though, I had no time to picture the married life of Helen and George. My own wedding was speedily approaching, and there seemed to be a ridiculous amount of things to get sorted out. Elena appeared to have lots of very particular ideas about what she wanted, and kept the servants busy scurrying around for certain materials or flowers or paint colours.

My hours of sleep got less and less, and the dark shadows under my eyes got worse, but luckily no one really cared about how I looked. And every day was a day closer to when Helen would be out of my reach for ever.

HELEN

"Helen, darling, you've already put enough salt in that water," came my mother's gentle voice from behind me. I started and woke from my daydream, to realise that I was dripping tears into the pan where I was poaching us eggs for supper.

"Oh, sorry, Mama," I said, wiping my face and trying to smile. "I didn't realise."

She put down the rolling pin and came over to me, wiping the flour from her hands onto her apron. Her face was full of sympathy. "Won't you tell us what's wrong, sweetheart? You know we'll not be angry with you. We just want to help you."

I shook my head. I could see how much it hurt my parents that I hadn't confided in them, but I just couldn't bring myself to talk about Callum and how I'd had to leave him. "I'm sorry, Mama. But I can't."

"Is it about your real family? Are you angry with us for not telling you the truth?" It was about the sixth time she'd asked me, and I half-smiled and put a hand on her arm.

"No, Mama. It's not that. You _are_ my family."

She smiled at me, her eyes brimming over with love. "I am glad to hear you say so, Helen."

We were interrupted by Bobby, who had finished his chore of putting the chickens to bed and making the rounds of the farm to ensure that all gates and doors were firmly closed. He bounced into the kitchen, dark hair flopping untidily over his small freckled face. "The chickens say goodnight," he informed me. "And they hope you enjoy their eggs."

"I'm sure we will," I smiled, taking the pan off the heat and carefully lifting out each soft egg and dropping it onto a slice of brown bread. "They're ready now. Can you go and call Father, Bobby?"

"All right!" he said cheerfully, and ran out into the yard. He had been ecstatic to have me home again, to the point where even my little wooden dog could not distract him for long. Every night before he went to sleep he'd hug me tightly round the neck and say how glad he was that I was back, and that he loved me. It never failed to make my eyes tear up.

"Ah, I smell food!" came my father's voice, and he came into the kitchen with Bobby clinging like a monkey to his shoulders. "Down you get, you little piggy." He heaved my brother off his shoulders, and poked him in the belly. "You're getting nice and fat, you know. Perhaps it's time to roast you in the oven and eat you for supper."

"No!" squealed Bobby, running away and getting in my way as I tried to put the plates on the table. Meanwhile my mother had finished shaping the biscuits she'd rolled out and was placing the trays into the oven to brown while we ate. She took off her big apron and sat down at the table with us, beaming at her family.

"Good health to the cook!" said Father, toasting his cup of water to me. "Let's begin!"

I stuck a knife into my egg and watched the golden yolk run down onto the crusty bread. I loved poached eggs, but somehow I didn't quite feel like eating. I knew that my parents would be watching me like hawks, however, so I forced myself to swallow it.

"How is George these days?" asked my mother, when we'd finished discussing affairs on the farm and when she was satisfied I'd eaten most of my meal. I nearly choked. My parents had developed a habit of pouncing on me when I least expected it and trying to work out what my relationship to George was. I wished them luck – I barely knew myself.

"He's fine," I said when I could breathe again.

"He moved into the Adams' place yet?" asked Father.

"Erm, no. They've only just left. He wants to fix it up a bit first." I hoped my cheeks weren't flaming. It was beyond me why any mention of George should embarrass me, but it did.

"Sensible idea," approved my father. "The Adamses are getting on. They haven't kept the farm in the best repair."

"Why is George moving?" piped up Bobby. "Is he getting married?"

There was an ever so slightly awkward silence. "No, darling," said Mama. I saw her glance at Father. "But perhaps he would like to."

"Good old George. He deserves the best," he agreed.

"But I thought you said Helen – " persisted Bobby, and immediately both my parents began to talk very loudly over him.

"Another egg, Jack?" asked my mother.

"That would be lovely, thank you, Lisa!"

"I'll go and boil the water right now!"

"Thank you!"

This was just too much. I stood up. Everyone looked at me. "I'm not feeling very well," I said faintly. "I… I'll go for a walk and clear my head."

"All right," said Mama slowly.

"Don't be out too late," rumbled my father.

"I won't."


	39. Chapter 39

HELEN

I walked to the meadow where George and I used to picnic together in the summer, and lay down in the lush, long grass. There was beginning to be a definite autumnal chill in the air, and I shivered and pulled my cloak closer around me. The sky above was patterned with stars, clearly visible on the velvety black sky. It was a perfectly cloudless night.

I had thought that I had cried myself empty, but tears kept welling up in my eyes and sliding coldly down the side of my face, no matter how hard I tried to hold them back. I missed Callum. It was a terrible feeling – that I would never again get to watch his face as he concentrated over a hand of cards, or with that half-smile as he listened to a joke. I wanted him to fold me in his arms again and to feel the way his shoulders bent protectively over me, and to kiss him again and melt into him the way I had before. I missed just spending time with him. Some days at the palace we had met in his garden with a book each; he would sit on the swinging chair, and I would lie down with my head in his lap, both of us perfectly content in the silence and engrossed in our own book. Knowing that he would do all this with Elena for the rest of his life was intolerable. My heart ached with a dull, heavy pain that was worse at night and when I was alone.

There was a rustling sound in the grasses, and someone was silhouetted against the stars. I wasn't afraid; there wasn't anyone to be afraid of in the village, and anyway I'd already guessed who it was.

"Hello, Snowdrop." His voice was warm and familiar and comforting, and it soothed my anguish a little to have a friend near me.

"Hello," I tried to answer, but my voice just came out as a croak.

George knelt down quickly beside me as I lifted myself up on my elbow, embarrassed, and tried to wipe my tears away with the edge of my cloak. "Are you all right?"

I gave up the transparent pretence. "No."

In the moonlight I could see the sympathy on his face. "Come here." He held out his arms, and without entirely meaning to I let him cradle me like a baby and cry on his chest. It felt wrong. His shoulders were too big and his hands too rough; it was not the way Callum held me. But in that moment I needed to be held, and George was so gentle with me, smoothing my hair and rocking me until I'd calmed down.

"Tell me," he said softly. "Tell me what you're feeling."

"It will hurt you to hear about it," I said in between sniffs.

"No. Just tell me."

So I poured it all out – how much I loved Callum, how much I missed him, how terrible it had been to leave him. It was a huge relief to talk about it, and George listened silently and attentively, occasionally wiping away a stray tear of mine. It was the first time we'd properly spoken since he'd taken me home; we'd been so awkward around each other, as if the past four years of our lives had never happened. But this was the old George that I'd known so well.

When I'd finished telling him, he was quiet for a while, though his hold on me never loosened. Eventually he said in a light tone, "It's good to have you back, you know. The village just hasn't been the same without you. Did you hear about old Luise and the vat of dye?"

"What? No…"

"She wanted a new shade of blue, but when she made enquiries, she found that…" His deep voice went on and on, telling me about the stories I'd missed and the gossip I needed to catch up on, sometimes making me sigh, more often making me laugh. I'd almost forgotten how much I loved home. Soon I was entirely distracted from my misery and laughing at how the grumpy old man who lived alone and shouted at children who came too near had accidentally tied himself to his donkey's tail and had been dragged ignominiously through the streets.

"Rose and Toby have settled on a date for their marriage," George said when we'd finished laughing. "The wedding will be in four months."

"Four months?" I said, startled. "They only got engaged in spring!"

"Yes. They are so much in love, they feel it is pointless to wait." I could feel his eyes on my face. "They're just waiting until Toby can finish getting the house ready and then they will move in." I was silent. I hadn't seen Rose since I got back – she was currently in a neighbouring village visiting relatives – but I had wondered if she would ask me to be a bridesmaid. We had promised years ago that we would ask each other to our weddings. Everyone around me was getting married, it seemed. I could not get away from the subject.

"It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" I said carelessly when it became apparent that George was unwilling to say anything else. "I'm sure the stars are bigger here than anywhere else – "

"Helen," said George, and my heart sank because I knew what he was going to say, "I know that you are hurting right now, and I do not want to ask you to make promises that you cannot keep. But it is in my heart to ask you whether you think… that you could ever care again for anybody. For me."

"George…" I said unhappily.

"Please, just let me say this, Helen. You already know that I love you. And I promise you that I'm willing to wait – years, if I have to. I would wait for eternity to have you by my side. Can you give me any hope that one day – perhaps – I can call you my wife?"

I got up quickly and walked a few steps away, feeling the cool grass brush against my legs. "Please don't ask me this now."

"Now – I won't – not until you ask me to. But just tell me – if you ever will."

I looked at the ground for a long time in silence. My mind was a confusion of emotions. "Maybe," I whispered. "But not now, not for a long, long time – I can't, George, I still love him."

"I know: I know," he said eagerly, getting up and taking both of my hands in his. "But if you can care for me even a little, I will be the happiest man alive. And I swear that until then I will act only as a friend towards you. Until you are ready."

"Yes," I said, scarcely able to believe that I was saying such a thing. Could this really be possible? Was I really telling George that I would marry him some day? Not when I forgot Callum, for I knew instinctively that I would never forget him. But when the hurt had lessened – when I was confident that he was out of my reach and happily married with his lost princess. Why shouldn't I marry George? He made me happy – reasonably – and he loved me so much. Worse things had been known to happen.

"Thank you," whispered George, and swiftly he bent and kissed me on the mouth. I recoiled, startled, but he had only been sealing the promise, and he let me go immediately. "I will see you later, Helen. I have to go now. Early to bed, early to rise – you know how it is." His eyes sparkled at me and there he was – my old friend. I felt some of the load lift from my heart. I had missed George's friendship.

"Goodbye, George," I said, and I watched him make his way through the moonlight meadow, wondering if I had just made the biggest mistake of my life.

CALLUM

Perhaps the hardest thing about my new life was that everyone thought it was perfect. As far as they were concerned, my fairytale had come true. I was wedding my princess. Why should I not be happy? Perhaps the only people who knew the truth were my parents, Lydia, and Annie, but none of them spoke to me about it. Lydia never failed to give me sympathetic glances and to make excuses for me to my fiancée when I had left the room in a temper; but she could not make it better, and she knew it.

It could have been just wishful thinking, but as the day steadily approached, Elena's manner seemed to change. She snapped at me – something she'd never done since her return – and grew more and more selfish, forcing everybody around her to attend to her every wish whether or not they had better things to do. No one dared disobey her for, as I well knew, she was more than capable of making their life miserable if they did so.

I could not fathom where this change in her came from. The Elena I had known had been vain, a little foolish, naïve, but never spiteful or malicious. Every now and then I would surprise a look in her eyes that almost frightened me. Yet still I could not say anything, and the thought of spending the rest of my life with this woman who was a complete stranger to me was numbingly horrifying.

Completely unrelated to my personal situation, however, was something disquieting that my father drew my attention to a couple of weeks before the wedding. He explained that while it had not always been possible to know his exact location or any of his plans, Nabolese spies had been able to ascertain that my uncle, Thomas, who had been banished from the kingdom, had been living quietly somewhere in far away Zhoda and to all intents and purposes had given up all signs of rebellion and was happy. However, recently he had disappeared completely, and all efforts to trace him were unavailing.

"What do you think it means?" I asked, confused. I knew about Thomas and his betrayal of my father, of course, but surely it had been so long since then – over ten years – that there was nothing to worry about.

"I do not know," he answered with a frown, "but I am afraid it may mean trouble for the wedding. Perhaps he has a plan to halt it – though I do not know why he should. 'Tis possible he does not want there to be a strong alliance between Nabol and Tanezia. They are formidable allies to have."

I thought privately to myself that if my uncle Thomas wanted to stop my wedding, he was more than welcome to do so. "Then we must take precautions," I said aloud.

"Yes. I will take care of that. Just be on your guard," he cautioned me.

"I will."


	40. Chapter 40

**Can't believe how much I've written! 40 CHAPTERS! Well, good news - I have a bit more stored up and I'd say by 5 chapters we should be done. Wouldn't it be great if I got 100 reviews by then...? :) Thanks for commenting - it's really nice when they're a bit more specific as well and mention a favourite character or a plot twist you liked :) **

HELEN

"Helen, I'm frightened," said Rose faintly as she stared into the mirror at her own pretty face. "I can't do this."

I carefully arranged delicate lace over her blonde hair, which had been elaborately plaited around her head. "Don't be ridiculous," I said firmly. "You will be absolutely fine."

"No," she said frantically. "I'll trip on my dress – or break something – or say the wrong words – and I look terrible, just look at me – "

I did look at her, at her creamy ivory skin and the pink flush on her smooth cheeks, her dark blue eyes fringed by ridiculously long lashes and the perfect red lips. Rose had always been unanimously known as the belle of the village. "I don't know what you're talking about," I told her. "And even if you were the ugliest person alive, you know that Toby would still love you."

The flush on her cheeks deepened and she dropped her eyelids in embarrassment. "I suppose so," she murmured, not quite able to hold back a smile.

"It's the truth, and you know it. Now, let me just get the flowers for you to hold, and we'll be ready to go." I went into the next room, where the bouquet was waiting for the bride.

"When are you going to marry George?" she called through the door. I dropped the flowers and caught them just before they hit the floor. Not trusting myself to speak for the time being, I came back into the room, silently gave them to her, and began to arrange the lacy folds of her veil again.

"Why do you ask?" I said when I was finally sure that she wouldn't hear anything wrong in my voice.

"Everyone is making bets as to how soon it will be. You are perfect for each other, you know. And you were the only person he had eyes for at the winter dance – he loves you so much."

"I know." The winter dance: ridiculous how less than a year ago, it was all I thought about. In the event, it had almost passed me by. I'd worn, of course, the green dress my father had given me, and George had barely left my side. But all I remembered of the evening was the realisation that dancing was a pastime I could put my entire concentration into; I'd thrown myself into the exercise, to the utter exclusion of all thoughts – particularly of a certain young prince – but _step, two, three, four, spin, two, three, four, stamp, stamp, clap, clap, and polka, two, three, four!_ I didn't even remember anything of what George had said to me throughout the entire evening.

I went on making sure Rose's attire was perfect, mechanically straightening and pulling material, wondering just how much of my thoughts showed on my face. "But he hasn't asked me yet."

"He hasn't?" Rose was clearly surprised; it seemed that gossip had us already engaged. "How odd. I wonder why?"

"Maybe he didn't want to overshadow your special day," I said lightly. "Time to go now. You look beautiful."

"Thank you, Helen," she said gratefully. "You've been so helpful in arranging everything. You're the best friend anyone could ask for."

"You know I wish you every happiness," I answered her sincerely – and I did, no matter how hard it was to see _her_ marry the person she loved and stay with him forever. "Come on. They're waiting for you."

Despite Rose's doubts, everything went perfectly, and soon everyone was gathered outside and enthusiastically – too enthusiastically in the case of my little brother and some of his friends – throwing confetti over the happy couple. There was a lively party afterwards, with music, food and drink liberally bestowed upon one and all, and some impromptu dancing on the grass in the flickering firelight. George kept his station near me, as he had for the past four months, making sure I had enough to eat and drink and that I was happy. He was so solicitous, so loving – so why did I feel like I could breathe only when he was away from me for a moment? He had disappeared now, and I was watching Toby pick Rose up in his arms, dress and all, and spin her round joyfully. They were so in love it made my heart ache. Would every happiness be denied to me just because I had dared care for somebody above my station?

"Helen," said a voice at my ear, and I turned to see that George was looking distinctly worried. "Come with me a moment, please."

I followed him, wondering what on earth could have happened. He led me away from the noisy party to a quiet corner of the village green. Once I was out of reach of the fire's warmth, I shivered. It was early January and freezing cold; the sky was a pale blue overhead, beginning to darken. Sitting on a wooden bench was a dark-haired girl who stood up as I approached. I stared at her, wondering why her features should appear oddly familiar. I was sure I'd never seen her before in my life. She was pretty, in a neat, insignificant sort of way, with dark hair pulled back and dark brown eyes that were anxious as they met my gaze. She seemed to be slightly older than me.

"What is it?" I asked George, somehow feeling a little frightened.

"I've come to find you," said the girl before he could answer. "I've been looking for so long – and it's you, it's really you…" She put out a hand to grasp my sleeve as if she was afraid I was a mirage. "Princess, it's me. Hannah. I told you once that it was not my name, but the time for lies is over."

"Hannah?" The name meant nothing to me. "Why are you calling me that?" For some reason I had the strange sensation that I was falling, falling into nothingness.

She opened her mouth, hesitated. "Can we go somewhere else to talk?"

"I'll come with you if you want," murmured George in my ear. I turned to him, distracted.

"No. I'll go alone." Whatever this meant, it was for me only. "I'll see you back at the fire."

With almost no memory of how I'd got there, I found myself sitting back at my empty cottage with the girl opposite me, imploring me to listen to her. "You are the Princess, your highness. You are Elena. Please believe that I am telling you the truth."

I remembered feeling that I was made of glass. This felt as though someone had dropped me and was trying to put me together again. "I don't understand," I said for the millionth time.

"I was your servant. Your maid. I looked after everything for you."

"But…" I just could not grasp it. She began again, the tale of how a princess had been kidnapped at sixteen and had managed to escape, and never been heard of again. She told me about a witch's daughter and an enchantment and betrayal and treason, and the words seemed to just bounce off me as if there was a wall around me. "No. It cannot be. I know that I am not Elena."

"Princess," said Hannah, leaning forward earnestly, "I have put myself into great danger in coming here to find you. I risk death, or worse, if my fellow rebels discover my treason. But I have made my choice. I always knew I was following the wrong path. Deep inside I wanted to somehow make up for the betrayal of your family. This is the only way I know how. You must come with me and stop the wedding. Expose the imposter. Save the Prince."

I shook my head. "No," I said again. "I have no right – "

"You have a spell on you, your highness. And the only person who can break it is you yourself. You have to trust me. _You are Elena_."

I stared at her: her dark, straight brows creased with desperation, her eyes hiding nothing. There was _something_ – a pull, an instinct… a memory? Had I once known her? Was everything she claimed true? I wavered. If I made the wrong choice… if this was all an elaborate plot against Callum… then it could cost me everything.

As if he was before my eyes, I saw Callum in memory. He would stare out of the window at the beautiful view, and absently run a hand through his hair. Then he'd catch me looking at him and give me that quick, sunny smile that always made my heart flutter.

My mind was already made up. "I'll do it."


	41. Chapter 41

**Okay, so there is good news. I went on a massive writing spree, and somehow ended up FINISHING the story. So now you have a choice: I can upload all the following four chapters in one go, or I can do them one per day. (Or slower.) Let me know via review which one you want - I'll count votes and decide accordingly. **

**Also, to the person who asked for a George POV - I haven't included one in this story but depending on how motivated I am, I'll write a short story entirely in his POV. :) **

HELEN

The only person who didn't want me to go was George. Even my parents were supportive, though my mother spent the whole day crying when she thought nobody was looking because I was leaving, and my father was very grim. Bobby, who didn't fully understand the situation, was upset but not overly so, and it was easy to cheer him up with a promise of another wooden animal from the market. But George – I had never seen him so angry.

"Please just consider it from my point of view," I begged him. "I've made no promises to you. I told you that I loved him."

"I am looking at it from your point of view!" he shouted. "And all I see is that you're going back to get your heart broken again! You can't trust him, Helen."

"But if Hannah speaks the truth – " I wished I hadn't mentioned her name, for he swung round to where Hannah was awkwardly standing by the gate. We were at the Adams' old farm, or rather George's new house. He had been splitting wood to make planks, and though it was winter-cold he was down to his shirt, and breathing hard both from anger and exertion. A stray part of my mind commented on how handsome he was looking, but I ignored it.

"Hannah," he said in some disgust. "Yes, she's quite happy with coming here and ruining people's lives – it's all right for _her – _" He swung his axe into the log, and with an ear-splitting wrench it divided completely into two pieces.

"She's not done it on purpose! She's only doing what she thinks is the right thing," I snapped, suddenly losing patience with him. "I'm sorry, George, but I'm leaving."

"Fine." He was setting up another log, refusing to look at me. "Well, I'll see you some time. Or maybe not."

"Please don't hold this against me," I said softly. My temper had gone as swiftly as it had arrived and I suddenly became conscious of a desperate need to cry. I had said too many goodbyes recently.

He sighed and put down his axe. "All right. I'm sorry. If you are the princess, you should go." He came closer to me, and gently lifting my chin up so that my gaze met his blue eyes, gave me one of the sweetest but saddest smiles I'd ever seen. "I always knew you were too good for me."

"Don't say that," I mumbled. "It's not true. _You're _too good for _me_."

"Princesses don't lie," he replied quietly. "Goodbye, Snowdrop." It was our last kiss, and it barely qualified as one – just an instant of his lips brushing mine. "And good luck."

Now I was really going to cry. I had to get away before I did. "Thank you," I choked, and then I ran away to hide in the hayloft for two hours, leaving him alone with Hannah.

The royal wedding was very soon, now that the so-called Princess Elena had passed her twentieth birthday, and there was little time to waste. Within the space of two days, Hannah and I were sitting in a rickety carriage and watching the Falecian countryside pass us by. We did not have much to say to each other: she was clearly unsure how to act around me, and I was too wrapped up in my own thoughts to spare any pity for her. Every mile we travelled brought me nearer to Callum, and every hour found me feeling increasingly more nervous and sick. Doubts assailed me constantly: what if I wasn't Elena? What if the imposter tried to kill me? Or Callum? Or everybody? How would I do this? How could I even prove myself to be the true princess if I didn't know it myself?

But at the same time, there was something else going on inside me, a process that I couldn't fully understand or even become aware of. It felt like some part of me was waking up. I kept having odd memories – at least I thought they were memories. They were just flashes. A woman's face, kindly and beautiful, with honey-coloured hair and hazel eyes. A bookshelf I was sure I'd never seen before. A rose bush. A man with blue eyes and laughter-wrinkles in his face. A rag doll, with button eyes and soft woollen hair.

I was convinced that they were memories from my past, but I had no way of knowing if that was true, and even if it was it didn't mean that I was the princess. Either way, however, the process was not comfortable. I had to accustom myself to new, strangely-shaped gaps in my remembrance rather than the fog of ignorance that had been there before. It was a complicated enough sensation that it occupied me fully until we arrived in Tesserie, merely a day before the wedding was to take place.

The cold wind buffeted us mercilessly as we stepped out of the warm carriage, making me shiver and hasten to pull my cloak around my shoulders. We had been left at the top of the main street, where the market would be on market days. Today, however, the road was eerily empty except for one or two figures bundled up in furs against the weather. I guessed that everybody would be inside eating their midday meal, probably by the comfort of a fire. Nabol was colder than Falecia.

"Now what?" I said through chattering teeth. Hannah had put her hood up and was blowing on her hands.

"I don't know," she confessed, sounding slightly panicked.

"You what? But you said – "

"I didn't exactly have a plan! All I know is that we have to stop the wedding!"

I could have kicked her, but it would hardly have helped. "First we need to find accommodation," I decided. "Then we'll think."

It turned out to be a matter of easier said than done; every inn in town was fully booked, for visitors from all over the country were staying the night in order to attend the wedding the following day. In the end I admitted defeat and took Hannah with me to my aunt's house. I hadn't wanted to ask her for hospitality, partly because she lived quite far away from the palace, and partly because I knew that she'd ask a million questions to which I did not have answers. But when she answered the door, she was too busy fussing over how cold we looked and how we hadn't eaten a proper meal since the night before to do much more than ask how long we were staying and who Hannah was. The children were all very excited to see me, and very shortly Hannah and I were installed at the table with a child on each lap and a feast of good things set before us.

It wasn't till we'd finished eating that Aunt Lynne really started asking questions. Why did I look so pale and thin? What had been happening? Why were we back here? Was I taking my job up again?

After a few evasive attempts, I gave up and told her the whole story.

I'd expected shock, astonishment, disapproval even, but she was whole-heartedly on my side. "You deserve happiness, love," she said gently. "And I wouldn't be surprised if you were a princess. I always thought there was something special about you."

"She is," said Hannah firmly. "And we're going to show everyone that."

"How?" said Aunt Lynne bluntly. "Ain't many that will believe you. Not with that hussy pretending to be the real princess."

"I have to speak to Callum," I blurted out. "It's the only thing I can think of. He'll believe me, I know he will. And he'll be able to change things."

"But he'll be busy," Hannah pointed out. "And how are you planning to get him to speak to you?"

"It will be fine," I said with new-found confidence. "I know every servant in the palace. They'll let me in."


	42. Chapter 42

**Okay, here's the dealio. I'll post this this morning, as it stands slightly apart from the ending, and then the last three chapters will be up some time this afternoon cos they all go together and you lot are all so excited for the ending. Still aiming for those 100 reviews, y'all... Enjoy! **

CALLUM

It was no use. I just could not get to sleep.

I'd tried everything. I'd walked, read, closed my eyes, had a hot drink, eaten a biscuit, had a bath. I felt exhausted but sleep would not come.

John had fallen asleep hours ago and I was irritably considering waking him up just to have some company when the shutter of my balcony window rattled and then banged, and with a sigh I went into my sitting room. The shutter had come loose and was being pushed by an icy blast of wind; shuddering, I pulled it shut, closed the window firmly, and sat down on my favourite arm chair. In the dim light of the one candle flickering beside me, I stared dully at the wall.

I was getting married tomorrow.

When the clock struck ten in the morning, the princess Elena would be my wife. And I would be bound to her for ever.

My thoughts went round in circles. I loved her once, so why was this such a hardship? Not all marriages had to begin with love. Perhaps we would learn to love each other.

But I did not want her. I wanted Helen. I remembered that night when, for a second, I'd allowed myself to imagine that Helen and I could stay together and grow in love and trust and peace for the rest of our lives. That was what I wanted. Nothing else would make me happy: I knew it deep within my heart.

_I can't do this._

At first it was just a whisper. _I can't do this._ But it built up and up until it felt like there was another person inside me, screaming the words. _I CAN'T DO THIS! I CAN'T!_

I stood up.

Why shouldn't I go to Elena and tell her the truth? It was the simplest possible way to avoid heartbreak for me, and, in the long term, for her. For who would like to find themselves married to a person who is in love with someone else?

Before I could allow myself to see the multitude of pitfalls inherent in this plan, I picked up the candle and made my way down the corridor to Elena's rooms. The thought crossed my mind that she might be asleep – it was past midnight – but it was worth a try. I knocked on the door, in what I hoped was a lordly, commanding sort of way.

Her maid, Louise, opened it. She was just one of the many servants Elena had brought back with her from her parents' palace, and for some reason I had yet to discover she did not like me. "Yes?" she inquired impolitely.

"I would like to see your mistress, if she is not asleep." How different this was from the way I used to creep into Helen's room to hold her while she slept.

"Wait here." Louise disappeared, and returned a few moments later with the words, "Follow me, and be quiet."

I was tempted to reprimand her for her rudeness, but I'd never been good at treating servants like… well… servants, so I meekly fell in behind her as she led the way to Elena's bedchamber. Bedchamber? Why not the sitting room? I felt a moment of misgiving, but it was lost in the shock of the moment when Elena herself answered the door.

She was wearing a nightgown – or perhaps wearing was the wrong word. There was not really quite enough of it to wear. It was gossamer light, translucent, and lacy, with strategic patches in certain places. I blinked and felt my mouth go dry. How was I supposed to react to this?

Louise had disappeared, I noticed with the small part of me that was not scrambling to avoid looking anywhere dangerous. I opened my mouth to say something, and found my brain completely blank.

"Good evening, my prince," said Elena in a low, purring tone. Was she – was I being _seduced_? No, that would be ridiculous. Wouldn't it?

"Elena," I managed, and stuck there. She stood aside to let me into the room.

"Won't you come in?"

"Th-thank you," I stammered, mentally railing at myself for my stupidity. It wasn't like I'd never been trapped like this before. It seemed that eight out of ten of every single girl of noble blood spent most of their days scheming and plotting that they might get me into just some such situation; I'd had plenty of 'oh-no-the-library-door-is-locked' or 'oh-no-I-feel-faint-please-loosen-my-corset' moments, but none quite like this. For one thing, most of the girls had been fully dressed, and for another their main aim was a promise of marriage – which Elena already had. So why was she doing this? I searched my memory for all the usual tricks I brought out – the suave, empty comments, the meaningless compliments that would distract them while I figured out how to escape – but came up empty-handed. This situation was different.

_Remember what you came for. To ask her to break off the marriage._ I straightened my shoulders as I stood awkwardly in the middle of the room. Elena had gracefully arranged herself on the bed. I made a huge effort to keep my eyes on hers, and not anywhere else.

"Elena, I came to ask you – " I began. She interrupted me with a little yawn and a wave of her hand.

"Callum, darling, won't you just pass me that hairbrush?"

I looked around and picked up the jewelled object from a table. "This?"

"Thank you." She pulled a series of pins from her hair, and half-hypnotised I watched as the glossy locks tumbled around her bare shoulders. Slowly, not looking at me, she began to pull the hairbrush through the dark curls.

"I wanted to say – "

"I haven't seen you for days," she interrupted me again. "It's so tedious when I can't spend time with you, Callum. Did you miss me?" She looked up at me through her lashes and I wondered at the amazing flexibility of the organism that is man: how was it that I disliked, almost despised this woman and yet could find her so attractive?

"Er – " I coughed, but fortunately I was not really expected to reply.

"Me too," she murmured. "I just can't wait until tomorrow morning."

"Yes, about that – "

"It almost feels like I can't bear to let you go, even though the wedding _is_ tomorrow." She got off the bed, hair cascading over her back, and came towards me. I inadvertently took a step back. "But maybe we don't have to say goodnight…" She was so close that I could have counted every eyelash around those mesmerising green eyes. She smelled of honeysuckle and roses. "Would you like to stay?"

"Stay?" I stuttered.

"Yes. Here. With me." She smiled – not the childlike, innocent smile like the old Elena used to give me, but an expression which made warning bells go off in my head. I suddenly felt like a rabbit faced by a predatory snake, and I was pretty certain that what she had in mind involved more than just sleeping. And perhaps in some far-off, unimaginable, other dimension, one where I had never met Helen and had lost all sense of morality, I would have said yes. But now I didn't even hesitate.

"No, thank you, Elena."

Was I imagining it, or was there a sudden flash of deadly anger in those eyes?

"Very well. There is only a day to wait, after all." She sat back down on the bed and continued to brush her hair, facing away from me. I stood there, desperate to get away, but still unable to get out the words I needed to say. "I am so glad we will be wed, Callum."

"Yes," was all I could answer.

"I've waited for you for so long, and now…" I could almost hear the smile. "And after all, this way relations between Nabol and Tanezia will be perfect, won't they?" She chuckled a little, as if at some amusing joke. "Can you imagine if you'd found someone else while I was missing, or found me wanting when I did return? I think my father would have declared war on you, poor darling."

I started. Had she just – albeit obliquely and very subtly – threatened me?

"Anyway, I won't keep you any longer, my love," she said sweetly, looking over her shoulder at me. "Goodnight, Callum. Sweet dreams."

Dazed, I submitted to her possessive kiss and to the rudeness of Louise as she escorted me to the door and out into the corridor; my walk back to my room was automatic. Only one thought remained: _what have I got myself into?_

HELEN

A timid tap on the door was followed by Hannah's voice. "Princess? Are you there?"

"Go away," I said rudely, and loudly. She disobeyed, opening the door and coming right in.

"It's not your fault, you know, Princess."

"I said go away. I thought servants are supposed to do as they're told by royalty."

"You weren't to know that the pretend princess had brought lots of servants with her. It's not your fault they didn't recognise you."

"Not my fault? Nothing is my fault!" I shouted. "I never asked to be in this ridiculous situation, but you got me here, and now I have _nothing_ – and Callum will be married tomorrow without even hearing a word from me. I've failed him. I've failed myself."

Hannah sat beside me on the little, low bed where I had stayed before when I was with my aunt. "No, Princess," she said gently. "You have not. There is another way."

"There is?" I looked up at her, trying not to feel too hopeful.

"We'll go to the wedding, and stop it before it happens. It's our only option."

"What?" There were so many holes in that plan that it was practically a sieve. "That could be incredibly dangerous, and if they don't believe us…"

"It's the only way," reiterated Hannah. "And it's our last chance." Our eyes met and I could see the same determination reflected in her gaze that I was beginning once more to feel.

"Why do you care so much?" I asked wonderingly. "You said that I didn't treat you that well. I was rude to you. And you spent years trying to get rid of me – you must have hated me so much. Why are you trying to help me now?"

Tears glittered in Hannah's brown eyes. "Don't remind me, your highness. Every day I have paid the price for my actions in guilt. I cared for you almost like a sister – and we used to be that close, when you were younger. Yes, I betrayed that, but on a momentary anger that did not merit such a monstrous deed. I am merely trying to make up for ruining your life."

On impulse, I hugged her, and she returned the embrace; it was a moment of healing for both of us, and when we let go of each other we were able to smile, though a little tremulously. "Thank you," I said simply.

"Don't thank me yet. Wait until tomorrow," she cautioned. My face fell.

"Yes… you're right."

"Don't worry. Everything will be fine. Now get some sleep; tomorrow will be a big day."


	43. Chapter 43

**Are you ready? :D **

CALLUM

From about seven o'clock in the morning, everything became a dream to me. I got up, washed, and dressed, all in a daze. Nothing was real.

Until, that is, the clock was striking ten and I was standing in the great hall – which had been converted temporarily into a chapel, so that we could seat exorbitant numbers of guests – waiting for my bride to appear. Suddenly, everything was _too_ real. I was hyperaware of my surroundings. Elena's taste was for the flamboyant, and the walls of the hall were almost hidden beneath masses of pink roses, interspersed with honeysuckle and jasmine. The room smelt like a greenhouse. It was hot, too, with all the excited guests fanning themselves with the hymn books and whispering to each other, despite the cold weather outside. I could feel a hundred pairs of eyes on me, and uncomfortably I shifted, trying to feel more at ease. My smart waistcoat, a horrible shade of green, was a little on the tight side and I wished I could go outside and stand in the icy wind for a second to cool down.

In the front row, I could see my parents and the Tanezian King and Queen. Marcus and Lydia were sitting together, holding hands. My father's face was expressionless, but my mother was looking at me with sympathy in her beautiful eyes. Did she suspect what I was thinking?

My best man was one of my many cousins, Hugo; he looked very similar to me, with dark hair and skin. I'd known him when we were little but it was the first time we'd met for about thirteen years, and I'd barely exchanged three words with him. Elena had chosen him for me for the same reason she'd elected to walk down the aisle alone: for the stylistic effect.

My chest, as well as my waistcoat, felt tight. For a horrible moment I thought I was going to faint, and had to take several deep breaths. How embarrassing if I did – and Elena would kill me. No, I had to face this like a man.

The organ (imported at great expense) began to play, and the doors at the back of the hall opened. As one, the guests stood and a hush fell over the room. The princess was here.

The aisle was a long one, but I would have wished it a million times longer if I could as my bride walked slowly towards me. She was smiling triumphantly, her head held high as if she knew how incredibly beautiful she looked. Her dress was rather ridiculous, with a huge skirt and puffed sleeves, yet somehow it suited her, and her hair had been elaborately curled and piled high on top of her head.

I no longer felt an urge to run. I stood there and met her gaze steadily, without flinching once. This was my duty – to my kingdom and my father, and I would shoulder it without complaint. But as she drew near to me and reached her hand out to mine, my jaw was clenched so tightly that it began to hurt.

We turned and faced the bishop who was marrying us, and the congregation was seated.

The ceremony was a long one, and I made my answers without awareness of anything but Elena's hand in mine. Her hands, I noticed, were icy cold, like the weather outside. Her replies were loud, ringing out clearly, while mine were low and quiet.

I was not listening to the words of the bishop, but the words 'lawful' and 'impediment' penetrated my fog of mindless duty, and my attention was caught by the phrase 'forever hold your peace'. There was a moment of deathly silence during which Elena's smile grew wider than ever and I resisted the urge to push her away from me.

Then everything ground to a halt as one of the guests stood up. She was at the very back of the room, but even so her words chimed out with crystal clearness over the heads of the horrified guests.

"I do!" she cried. "That is not the Princess Elena!"

_Helen._

Every fibre in my being yearned towards her. It was months since I'd last seen her, that day in the forest. Nearly every day I'd traced her face in memory, desperately trying to remember how she had smiled and laughed and how her voice had sounded. Now she was here, really here. Suddenly I didn't care where I was. Happiness coursed through my veins. _She came back._

She looked pale, as usual, and not nearly as pretty as she used to. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight plait, as she used to do it sometimes as a maid, and she was much thinner than she had been. But her small white face was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen as she stood there with fierce determination in her eyes.

I looked at Elena. Her face was white too, and she was gripping my hand so tightly that I extricated myself with difficulty before she broke something. "How dare you," she breathed.

(The bishop, who had clearly not been expecting an answer to his routine question, looked flustered and made the sign of the cross.)

My father stood up now, and turned to Helen, who was now undergoing intense scrutiny from every guest present. "Please explain yourself, Madam," he said dangerously. "That is a serious accusation to make."

Helen, shaking from head to foot – I could see that even from so far away – began to make her way up the aisle towards my father. When she reached the front, she turned and faced the congregation. "I said that she is not the Princess," she said loudly, pointing at Elena. Confusion swept through me. What was she talking about?

"And why do you say that?" My father was angry, but I could tell that her assertion was unexpected and had taken him by surprise.

"Because… I am."

ELENA

Fear had taken hold of me so completely that I no longer even felt it. As I stood there in front of everybody and declared my identity, I realised that I finally believed Hannah's story. I _was_ Elena. Of course I was. Why else did I love Callum so much? He was mine, body and soul, and I wasn't about to let him go without a fight.

There was a collective gasp when the congregation realised what I was claiming. For a second I felt triumphant, but then Callum's father, the King, spoke two words that had me panicking.

"Prove it."

My mind went utterly blank. I must have thought of an answer to this, but whatever it had been I couldn't remember it. I opened my mouth – and Hannah stood up.

"I can!" she cried, and to my astonishment (as well as that of everyone else present), she ran up to join me at the front. "I was the Princess Elena's servant. I am ashamed to admit that I had a hand in the plot that got her kidnapped four years ago." There was another gasp – several guests were clearly enjoying themselves – and I saw several people, including Callum, mouth 'kidnapped?' "I was a member of a rebel group belonging to the traitor, Thomas of Nabol." More cries of astonishment and all the time the pretend princess was growing angrier and angrier. I did not fear for my safety, nor that of anybody else, at this point; to move would be to prove Hannah's argument, so for now the witch's daughter was helpless.

"Thomas? My brother! Then who is _that_?" thundered the Nabolese King, looking sterner than I'd ever seen him.

"Your majesty, with all due respect, you and your family have been misled," said Hannah firmly, while I nodded. "That woman is no princess. She is the daughter of a witch – an enchantress. She has bewitched herself to appear like Elena. This girl is the true princess."

"What do you have to say for yourself?" growled the King to the pretend Elena. I sneaked a glance at Callum: he was wide-eyed and looking from me, to his father, to Hannah, to the witch, with a dawning realisation of the disaster he'd narrowly avoided.

"Your majesty, these are all lies! I am outraged that anyone dares to question my truthfulness! Have you not already been satisfied that I am your son's betrothed? Do these _servant girls_ doubt your judgement?"

"She raises a good point," admitted the King, turning to me with doubt in his eyes. "How am I to trust your story with no evidence? There seems to be no reason that I can see for my traitorous brother to kidnap Elena. How do I know this is not merely an extravagant plot against the princess?"

"I believe I might be able to help with that." The voice was quiet, but held such authority that everyone turned round, once more, to see who had spoken. It was my turn to gasp.

Standing in the midst of the crowd, looking rather pleased with himself, was the little old man who had sold me those glass slippers. Instinctively my hand went to the bag slung over my shoulder, where I had the one I'd run away with. What was he doing here? And why was he holding the other shoe?

"Your majesty," he said respectfully, and I noticed that his accent had changed and he sounded much more respectable, "you may remember the legend of the Glass Slippers." Cue a tide of excited whispering from the crowd, which Callum's father cut short by holding up a hand.

"The name is familiar to me," he said slowly.

"It is an old story of this land. A princess who was treated like a pauper was given a gift by her fairy godmother: a pair of glass shoes to dance in for the ball. She met the prince and they fell in love and were married, and the glass shoes were forgotten or dismissed as make-believe. But they were real. Many years ago, they passed down to me, and I have guarded them ever since. But a few months back, this little lady –" he gestured to me – "came in and took them off my hands. Now, you may be asking while I'm telling you this. Let me explain. The shoes of the princess had magical properties, one of which was that they will only fit royalty. I would like to invite both of these beautiful women to try on the shoes."

The pretend princess had gone even whiter than before, but I felt a surge of triumph. This I could do.

No one could think of a reason to object, so unhindered the little man climbed out from his row and carefully offered the shoe to Elena. "If you would, my dear?" he said to me, and I opened my bag and gave him its pair, wondering how he knew yet somehow not surprised.

The girl who had been pretending to be me irritably made a gesture, and some kind person in the congregation brought a chair for her to sit on while she tried on the shoes. I could hear her muttering under her breath, and a sudden panic took hold of me. What if she could make an enchantment and force the shoes to obey her? She took off her dainty, white wedding shoes and, in a silence so complete you could hear people breathing, pushed her feet into my glass slippers.

I needn't have worried. My shoes did not let me down. There was a heartbeat more of silence, and then she screamed – a sound of pure frustration – and kicked the shoes away. I gasped, but they had been through worse than that and they did not shatter. "They don't work," she said furiously. "They're a fake. This is ridiculous – "

"Let Helen try on the shoes," ordered the King. I held my breath as the old man carefully picked them up from the floor and handed them to me wordlessly. Unbidden, my eyes crept back to Callum. He was watching me intently.

"Go on," he mouthed.

I sat on the floor – no chair for me, thank you – and slipped on the shoes. It was obvious that they were a perfect fit, and I admired the way they sparkled on my feet as if they were pleased to be reunited with me. The old man nodded, smiled at me, and vanished in a flash of light.

"You see?" cried Hannah, taking advantage of the momentary shock in the room. "Helen is the princess!"

I got to my feet, but before I could do or say anything, Callum had run to me and was holding me tighter than anyone had ever held me before. "You came back," he breathed into my shoulder, and I couldn't help smiling. Now, finally, things were the way they should be.

"Wait," came the witch's voice. "I demand more proof. How do we know this isn't just a trick? I know Callum better than anybody." She took a step towards us and Callum loosened his hold on me slightly in order to push me back, shielding me from her rage. I clung onto him, realising all over again how much I loved this man and how much it would hurt to lose him. "I grew up with you, Callum. I played games with you and teased you and let you tease me. Don't you remember the first time we met? How Marcus and I woke you up? Or the stories you used to tell me, about dragons and castles and knights?"

My heart was racing in my chest. _She had me_. She knew that I could not remember all of this. She knew that I could not prove I was the princess this way. I looked around and saw that everyone was looking doubtful. And why not? How else would she know all of this?

"Wait – " I begged, but no one was paying attention to me any more. She was speaking solely to Callum now, and I began to panic that he'd believe her.

"I'll tell you when I first fell in love with you, Callum," she was saying, and my heart clenched within me. Was this true? Was this my history she was telling all these people? Or was she making it up? I had no way of knowing. "It was when you dared me to climb that tree. You didn't expect me to, but I did. I climbed all the way up there and got stuck, and what did you do? You climbed up right to that second branch and got me – "

"But it wasn't the second branch," I heard a voice say, quiet with bewilderment but clearly audible. It took me a second to realise that it was my own.

The pretend princess swung round to me, anger flashing in her eyes. "What?"

"It wasn't the second branch," I repeated. Somehow, miraculously, the memory was unfolding. "It was the third branch… the one that sticks out over the flowerbed. It was, wasn't it? Why did you get that wrong?" She was staring at me, speechless. "Oh… it was because I _told_ you… when…? When I was captured… I was telling you stories… and I changed it just so that I could keep a tiny bit of the truth to myself…" I gasped. "Callum, I _remember_! I remember! It's me! It's really me!"

The prince was looking at me with eyes full of astonishment and happiness. "Elena?" he said questioningly, and I nodded, brimful with joy. "I knew we belonged together," he said rapturously, and right then at that inappropriate moment, in front of his parents, in front of everybody, he pulled me close and kissed me.


	44. Chapter 44

CALLUM

Everything happened very quickly after that. Elena's parents, who had been watching this whole scene with bated breaths, ran up to us and unceremoniously pulled me off their daughter that they might hug her and kiss her instead. Queen Alba was in tears, and so was Elena. I felt pretty close to tears myself – I mean, I would have, if I wasn't a man and a prince.

But everyone froze when a piercing scream echoed through the hall along with a freezing gust of wind, and darkness seemed to fall outside despite the fact that it was the middle of the day. Like magnets, our eyes were drawn to the witch's child. She had cast aside her disguise, now that it was plain it was of no more use to her, and her true form terrified us. Beside her stood a figure that many of the assembled people recognised. He was armed with a short dagger and his icy blue eyes were filled with both triumph and bitterness. Like wildfire, the whisper ran through the guests: "_Thomas! _It's Thomas of Nabol! He's back!"

"How lovely to see you again, _brother_," hissed the man I'd heard so much about and yet had never seen. "I had hoped our meeting would be under somewhat different circumstances." He cast Elena a look of dislike, and she shrank into me. I straightened my back and shoulders. If he wanted her, he'd have to kill me first.

"Thomas," said my father in a tone I'd never heard him use before. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, you know, the usual… having my plans foiled," replied my uncle with an overtone of dark humour. "But after all, perhaps this way is more _fun_, even if it's less subtle." He nodded to the witch, and she raised her hands and cried out a word I'd never heard before.

Amidst a babble of terrified screams, flames broke out along every wall in the room, fencing everyone in close together with no chance of escape. My heart began to race and I realised that this whole situation went far deeper than I'd ever dreamed.

"What do you want of me?" demanded my father over the noise, not moving his eyes from the silhouetted figure of Thomas.

"What I've always wanted, James. Your throne."

"Over my dead body!" shouted my father, and he drew his sword.

"Well, yes, that was the plan," said my uncle, and lazily, almost effortlessly yet with speed greater than I'd ever seen before, he lifted his dagger and threw it at his brother.

"_NO!" _screamed my mother, and she threw herself at my father, but it was too late. The deadly knife hit him in the chest with a horrible _thump_, and it sank deep. My father swayed and fell, his skin turning ash grey. My mother caught him before he hit the ground and began stroking his face, calling his name through a storm of tears.

I had never felt a rage so terrible before. It consumed me like the fire that was currently licking the walls and feeding on the wooden chairs; it ran through my veins and blinded my sight. "Thomas!" I roared, and the look of astonishment on the murderer's face was sweet as he turned to see me brandishing my own sword.

"We finally meet, my dear nephew!" he shouted back, and then he'd picked up my father's discarded sword and swung at me and we were dancing the lethal dance that ends in death.

I was so focused on attacking and parrying that I only caught glimpses of what was going on around me. Where was Elena? I could hear a horrible high-pitched laughter over the clash of our blades, and it seemed that the witch was toying with the weddings guests, lowering the flames so that they tried to escape and then bringing parts of the ceiling crashing down on them. But I could not be sure, and I could not see where Elena was. My heart burned within me and I doubled the force of my attack, but Thomas had skills equal to if not greater than mine in swordplay and he was untiring, and meanwhile my lack of sleep and despair was telling on me. I began to think that this was a fight I could not win.

ELENA

One moment I was feeling entirely happy; the next, the world was disintegrating around me into chaos. I watched in helpless horror as King James fell, as Callum challenged Thomas and was engaged in a vicious swordfight. I shrieked and ran thoughtlessly towards them, but my parents held me back. I kicked and struggled, but they wouldn't let me go until I'd calmed down enough to see what was happening around us.

Flames were destroying the walls and trying to engulf the screaming guests, and any that managed to get through the flames were met by who I guessed were Thomas' men, stationed outside the doors and windows and mercilessly attacking anyone in their path. And the witch was laughing at the scene, laughing so hard that she could barely stand, and occasionally flicking her finger and causing heavy objects or parts of the wall to fall from above indiscriminately upon rebels and guests. As I stared at her, a poisonous hatred seeped through me like ink, staining my soul and making me physically shake with the force of my emotion. I turned to Hannah, who was cowering beside me.

"Distract her," I shouted in her ear over the screams of the wounded. "I'm going to kill her."

"But Princess – "

"Just go." I pushed her away from me, and went over to where my parents along with Queen Sheidra were bending over the form of King James. Someone had pulled the dagger out from his chest, and it lay in a pool of dark red blood, forgotten as they tried to stem his wound. I picked it up, feeling the hilt slippery with blood, and with purpose I moved towards the witch who had ruined my life and was trying to kill the man I loved. Hannah, looking pale and scared but determined, had made her way across the altar and began to shout and wave her arms.

"Hey, you! Pick on someone your own size – "

I wondered if she was actually thinking about her words or just saying whatever came to mind. Either way, it worked, for the witch's daughter stopped laughing and her eyes narrowed. "You," she hissed. "You're the one that betrayed us. You turned traitor to our cause."

"That's right," said Hannah insolently. "Because I didn't fancy working for an evil hag and a twisted, sadistic man."

Furiously angry, the witch let loose another unearthly scream of hatred and swooped down towards her.

Several things happened at once.

Hannah did not shrink away or run as I expected her to, but stood proudly in place and waited for doom to fall upon her.

Behind the witch and opposite me, another figure emerged from the chaos and dealt the witch a glancing blow from a staff that knocked her off her feet and into the flames behind her.

I threw my dagger, and it missed the witch completely and flew past to where Thomas and Callum were still fighting. It sliced through Thomas' cheek as he turned to defend himself against Callum's blade, and he dropped his sword and cursed at the unexpected pain.

While he was unguarded, Callum's sword bit deeply into his side, and he hunched over, jerked, and fell onto the floor with his face set in a hideous snarl of death.

The witch had caught fire, and she was making a noise like a siren-whistle. She staggered out of the open flames, but they were all over her and with one last screech of agony she dissolved into a pile of ashes that scattered themselves around the room. With her death, the flames disappeared, and a deathly silence fell on the room. Across Thomas' body, Callum and I stared at each other. He had blood on his white shirt and his face was haggard, but he had never looked more beautiful to me than he did in that moment when I knew that he was mine. His gaze dropped to my feet, and then he looked back up at me and smiled – that joyful, teasing smile that I knew so well. I looked down at my feet to see what had caught his eye, and couldn't help a smile of my own.

I was still wearing the glass shoes.


	45. Epilogue

ELENA

Of course, it took some time for things to settle back into their places. There had been extensive damage caused to the great hall (as well as to the nerves of the bishop, and nearly everyone else who had been present) and many guests had been wounded. Fortunately, by a miracle, there were no fatalities. King James recovered and suffered no lasting damage other than an occasional twinge in his scar when a storm was due; the dagger had missed his heart.

Once Thomas and the witch were dead, the rebels lost heart and either fled or gave themselves up. No one was punished very hard, though, for as Hannah could testify, their loyalty had been mainly due to terror of the witch's powers. Things returned gradually to normal in Nabol, though the 'battle of the royal wedding' became a tale worthy of myth and legend throughout the country.

The mysterious figure who had felled the witch at the last moment turned out to be George, who had decided to follow Hannah and me in case we got into any trouble. He was hailed as a national hero, which embarrassed him very much, but he was comforted by Hannah's company; they plan to get married in a year or two, much to the joy of everyone who knows them. I gave him back his golden locket, and he gave it to Hannah, and to my satisfaction we have remained friends ever since.

And me? Well, once I'd been reunited with Callum, my memories returned bit by bit until I could remember my whole childhood. My parents couldn't bear to let me out of their sight for any longer than was absolutely necessary, which meant that my marriage to Callum was postponed by several months, but I insisted on making one last journey back to Falecia. This was to ask my foster-parents if they would consider moving to Tesserie, near Aunt Lynne, so that I could see them more often; and Callum generously offered them any jobs they cared to take at the palace. After some consideration, they accepted our offer and came to live in Nabol. I see them every month or so, when I go to visit Callum.

It has taken me twenty years and a lot of heartache, but I finally know who I am. I am Elena, Princess of Tanezia, daughter of King Stefan and Queen Alba, sister to Marcus (and at some point, Lydia), very-shortly-wife-to-be of Prince Callum of Nabol, and also Helen, Snowdrop, daughter of Jack and Lisa, sister of Bobby. I have hundreds of wonderful friends (Annie has become once more my personal maid, since Hannah is busy learning to be a farm girl) and I am incredibly lucky to have so many blessings in my life; and lest I ever forget who I am and how I had to fight for that knowledge, I just go to the box beside my bed, and take out my glass shoes.

_Princess Elena finished telling the story, and with a sigh of contentment her children settled into bed. _

"_Thank you, Mamma," said Aurelia sleepily. "You tell stories really good."_

_Elena smiled, and bent to kiss the warm foreheads. "Goodnight, darlings," she murmured, and as they closed their eyes she stroked their cheeks gently, thinking how lucky she was to have such beautiful children. _

"_Where's Daddy?" mumbled David through lips that would barely obey him because they kept yawning. _

"_Here I am! Did you think I'd forget to kiss you goodnight?" came a cheerful voice from the door, and Prince Callum came and hugged them all. "Sweet dreams, little ones." _

_With a last backwards look towards the sleepers, the parents turned off the light and left the room, his arms around her waist._

"_What story did you tell them tonight?" asked Callum when they were comfortably installed in their cosy sitting room. Elena looked up from the little white garment she was sewing for baby Pippin._

"_Ours," she said with a smile._

"_Again? Do they know it's ours?"_

"_Not yet," she answered. "But they will one day. There's no hurry."_

"_Indeed. We have all the time in the world." He got up and, ignoring her protests about sewing, pulled her up to her feet and whirled her around the room in a crazy dance. "Is it ridiculous that I love you just as much – even more – than when I did the very first time I kissed you, my beautiful Elena?"_

"_Well, I should hope that's the case," she said breathlessly, but she was smiling._

"_I am the luckiest man alive," he announced. Elena looked up at him with sparkling eyes._

"_Why is that?"_

"_Well, who else gets to fall in love with the same woman twice?" And without letting her answer, he pulled her close and kissed her. "Guess what?" he added presently._

"_What?"_

"_We're going to live happily ever after."_

_And the Princess Elena, laughing, couldn't disagree with that._

**Wow... so... I actually got to the end! Please let me know what you think of how I wound things up. Thank you so much to all my loyal followers! Much love! EmLuRo xxx**


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